Headcanon Drabble Series
by ReniJo
Summary: So I decided to write short snippets of the Assassin's Creed 3 headcanons the lovely poeple at tumblr post day by day. There will be fluff, angst and also eroticism in time. These are mainly Connor&LI centered but who knows... There may be other pairings as well. I write them in the POV of the reader which is a rather new experience for me so be gentle!
1. Silent observer

_[__**Headcanon: **_**esteljune:**

**_I imagine Connor/Ratonhnhaké:ton as the type that would watch you while you're reading or you're concentrating on something, with an intense and frowning look as if he's intrigued and amazed by you.._**_]_

_..._

**i.**

At first, it was weird. You couldn't believe your eyes. Connor was casually leaning on the kitchen's door frame, silently watching you. When he approached the premise half an hour ago, you thought he just wanted to greet you or get a glass of water, since he'd been training for long hours and might be thirsty. But he did neither of these things. He just stopped in the entrance, crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned onto the door frame. You turn back slightly, just enough to see him out of the corner of your eye. Though he doesn't smile back when you send a confused one of your own to him, his features seems calm, content even. It's like he's pleased with the scene in front of him. Glad, that there's someone puttering about in the kitchen. You hope he likes the fact that _you are_ the one who's running the cooking area. When you're sure that he'll most likely remain mute, you turn back and continue preparing dinner for him. He stays there, stock-still, watching you quietly.

**ii.**

The second time was just as unexpected as the first but it didn't really confuse you anymore. You were just about to head back into the mansion after a short stroll around the homestead, but stopped when Connor's horse whinnied, and after getting your attention, crossed the yard and trotted up to you.

"Hey, beautiful." You say, patting her gently on the neck. "What do you say to a nice grooming, hmm?" You smile at the mare, amazed by her intelligent gaze and usher her into the stable. You're in the midst of cleaning her horseshoe when Connor passes by the stalls, swearing under his breath.

"Ah, Connor, good morning!" You call after him, not really sure whether to go after him and ask what's bothering him or ignore the matter and turn your full attention back to the horse. You get your answer rather soon, because Connor turns around and enters the stable. He murmurs a quiet 'good morning' to you then puts his hand on the star on the mare's forehead, boring his eyes into hers. The horse stares back at her owner and you shook your head, smiling at the intimacy of the moment. After a bit of caressing and mumbling in his native language, Ratonhnhaké:ton leaves the animal and settles down on an upturned bucket. Normally he would help you tend to the horse, saying you shouldn't do this for him since he's the one using it, but now he's just staring at you, following your every movement, frowning a little to himself. He doesn't say a word, doesn't interrupt you with helpful suggestions or be a know-it-all and tell you how to do it better. You give him a sheepish smile and start to entertain the horse by letting her know the steps of grooming. Connor stays there, sitting on the metal bucket with his hands hanging between his knees, silently watching you.

**iii.**

The third, fourth, fifth and the many other occasions turn out to be the same. No matter what you're currently doing, be it hanging the freshly washed clothes, sweeping, gardening, chatting in the inn with the other homesteaders, playing with the dogs, taking a walk with little Hunter and Prudence or just simply sitting in front of your vanity and combing your hair, he's there, watching you quietly, deep in thought.

But this time, when you're reading your favorite book, comfortably lying on the couch and he's poking the fire he started in the hearth, you cannot sit there in utter silence and let the matter slide again. You slap the book shut, this way catching his attention and look at him expectantly. He's confused, doesn't really know what to do, where to look and mostly what to say, if there is something to say at all. You tilt your head, sending the message _'I'm waiting'_ with the motion. Connor scowls. You throw your hands up in exasperation, book still in your right one, and go for a sitting position.

"You're never going to tell me what you're thinking about, right?" The young man arches an eyebrow at you in question. "It would be nice of you to talk at times. You know, instead of just observing."

"What do you want me to say?" He finally asks. You sigh in relief and chuckle.

"Anything, really. I thought we're friends."

"We are."

"Then why do you always stay silent? I really like you."

"I like you too."

"Then talk to me. We don't have to chat all the time, just occasionally."

"I understand." He looks away for just a fleeting moment then returns his gaze and smiles at you faintly. "I will try my best." You nod at him, re-open your book and start its 14th chapter, a gentle expression spreading over your face. When you're on page 197, a thought hits you and you suddenly shoot up from your cozy position and waltz up to the native man. He glances up at you, surprised to see you leaning closer to him. He slightly draws back but not that noticeably for it to be hurtful, and holds back his breath. You're so close that your lips almost touch his ear and you can smell that enticing scent that seems to linger around the house all the time. You take a deep breath and a crooked smile pulls onto your lips.

"Thank you for just being with me."


	2. Teenagers are awkward

**_[Headcanon: esteljune: _**

**_Sometimes I like to imagine teenage Ratonhnhaké:ton getting all awkward around a young lady. "Women…mysterious creatures…"]_**

**_..._**

He's met you before, Connor admits suddenly one night while having dinner with you in the mansion. You look up from your task of searching for your favorite spoon and raise an eyebrow.

„Really?" He nods, reaching past you then after a little bit of rummaging in the drawer behind you, he pulls out the spoon you were looking for. He hands you the utensil and you accept it with a wide smile plastered on your face. He doesn't smile back at you but his eyes, warm, welcoming and so-_so _brown, send a message you've been able to recognize for a while now. Your own smile gets wider, if it's even possible, and you start to follow him as he turns to the dinning room's direction.

"When was it?" You ask, intrigued by the information. This time you can almost catch that adorable little smile he sometimes flashes at you and this makes you even more curious. "God, Connor, you're killing me here!" You laugh, watching him as he sits down and makes himself comfortable. You arch an eyebrow at him but he refuses to talk and motions you to sit as well. You pout and get ready to whine but he raises a hand, gets a hold on the chair at the end of the table and pulls it out for you. Giving up, you decide it's best you settle down as well, thinking that this way he's possibly going to start talking and share his story. Connor grabs the utensils laid down beside his plate but doesn't start eating immediately. He's poking the table with the fork in his left hand and opens his mouth to talk.

***flashback****

He's staring at you. A young boy with dark hair and eyes, most likely from a native tribe, is standing in front of the Green Dragon and continues to stare at you. You try to go about your own business but you can feel his eyes on you and you keep looking back at the lad. He's handsome, you decide. Gorgeous even.

Oh, God, she noticed me. Well, I just have to act as I usually do. Calm down, Ratonhnhaké:ton. She is just a regular citizen. She is not even that pretty. Her bun is rather messy, that is not engaging. She has overly big breasts for her young age too. Why am I thinking about her bosom?

You raise an eyebrow as you notice the grimace, which appeared a few minutes ago, turning into an utterly shocked expression on his face. You sigh and shook your head then glance at the dog that's been following you around the whole morning. You smile down at the stray animal and offer him a piece of bread from your basket. He's eager to accept the food, it's plain to see, but nevertheless he stays put and takes the bread gently from your hand. You pat him on the head then proceed to the tavern.

Huh, she likes dogs. That is…that is a nice trait. But who does not love dogs, right? She is just an average girl, you do not have to act as if she is different from the many others, Ratonhnhaké:ton. For example, that woman with the red hair looks almost exactly like her. The only difference is that the red haired woman is a bit older and she does not have a bun, her hip is much wider and her skin is awfully pale. But _she _does have a bun, quite messy though, her skin tone is beautiful and her hip's shape is perfect. See, almost exactly like.., well yes, no.

He's staring, again. You start to think that you have something on your face, so you stop and look at your reflection in the nearest window. Nothing unusual. Okay. You straighten your dress, reposition the basket on your arm and continue your walk to the tavern.

She is coming this way. Why is she coming this way? Do not worry, Ratonhnhaké:ton, she is just a normal, not so pretty, animal loving young lady with a messy bun and overly big breasts for her age. No, you fool, do _not_ think of her bosom anymore!

"Uh, excuse me." He whips his head to your direction and looks down at you. He's blushing slightly, you notice. A gentle smile finds its way up to your lips and you clear your throat again. "I-uh, can I get through?" You ask politely. His eyes widen and he starts to splutter. You let out a short laugh which causes him to stop the embarrassed stuttering and he finally manages to step aside.

"Here." He says, while motioning to the door and turning his head a bit to the side.

"Thank you." You reach out towards his arm but just when you're about to give it a pat, he suddenly turns rigid and takes a step further. You narrow your eyes and look at him confusedly. "Sorry." You breathe, timidly. He shakes his head, his cheeks getting pink, and screws his way in front of you then pushes the door open. He waits for you to enter and after that, he walks in as well and takes a seat at a table in the corner to the left.

"Ah, it's been so long, sweetheart! How have you been?" The warm voice of the owner, Catherine, sobers you enough to take your eyes off of the strange boy and make a dash to where the woman serves a bunch of men.

***end of flashback****

You stare at a crumb on the tablecloth as you recall the memory. You're still listening to Connor but the scene is just so realistic that you can't really react. You exhale loudly, not sure how long you've been holding your breath.

"How did you know it was me?" You ask suddenly. Connor looks at you a bit taken aback. You chuckle softly and put down your spoon. "I mean, when did you realize I'm the girl from the Green Dragon? It's been a few years now, yet you still remember me."

"Oh." He murmurs something you can't really make out but then switches to a louder tone. "I saw you treating a dog in front of Oliver's inn."

"A dog, huh?" You shake your head, grabbing your utensils again, chuckling to yourself.

"Yes, a dog." Connor replies, looking at you gently. You glance at him for a brief moment and catch him observing the region of your chest. He averts his eyes quickly and starts eating. You're almost sure that his cheeks turned a little redder than usual.


	3. Captain Connor

_**[Headcanon: Captain Connor being socially awkward, shy (especially around women), embarrassed when the subject of sexuality comes up, but he sometimes 'mans up' and smiles/grins bashfully about it (though red faced). Idea by haytham-senpai]**_

You watch him confidently proceeding towards his precious ship, full captain attire on him. You've never told him but secretly, you're rather attracted to him when he puts down his assassin robes and changes into that sailor outfit. There's no denying of the fact that no matter what he wears, he's simply delicious, but looking at him now as he steps aboard, all Captain Kenway-like, you're just aroused.

He's so shy though.

***flashback****

The first thing you notice is Mr. Faulkner's hoarse laughing. Ah, the old man is back to his old self. He's been out of it for a few days and you started to worry about him. Though you can clearly hear the older man having fun, you almost miss Connor's quiet chuckle. They walk up to you from behind and you shortly find yourself pulled up, off the clog you've been sitting on, and plastered onto Robert's chest. You're not really surprised by this but truth be told, the embrace turned out to be rather suffocating and your face starts to turn purple. Connor sends you a crooked smile and you feebly wave to him in response.

"What a surprise, missy! I thought you have a fear of water."

"Well, it's not like I'm going to go in and splash around." You deadpan. It's true that you're afraid of deep water and the vastness of the sea frightens you, but you're okay with the dock. Mr. Faulkner laughs and lets go of you. He settles down on the clog you've been sitting on just minutes ago and motions to the two of you to follow him. You bend down and pick up the book that's been knocked out of your hands then have a seat beside steals a glance at you and smiles sweetly. A rare sight but it's worth the long waiting for one. You answer his smile by bumping your shoulder to his, though the movement is not very ladylike.

You don't even know when or how the subject came up but Mr. Faulkner is now questioning Connor about your relationship and the poor guy just can't take it. He starts to stutter, tripping over his words, saying you're just friends. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, perhaps fearing your reaction.

"That's strange, son." Robert says, scratching his beard.

"Why do you think so?" Connor asks confusedly, his eyebrows knitted together. The veteran sailor glances at you then with a cheeky grin turns back to Connor.

"Well, you live together."

"She has nowhere else to go." Connor defends you without hesitation. You look down at your hands resting in your lap and smile. He's such a good person. Despite his solid explanation Faulkner is not at all satisfied.

"I remember her living with Oliver and Corrine in Mile's End before." Connor falters, probably not sure what to say to that. Mr. Faulkner is right; you lived in Mile's End, Oliver and Corrine's beloved inn. Connor is silent, deep in his thoughts, but then after a few minutes he looks back up and locks eyes with the older man.

"I want her - " You whip your head to his direction in shock. " - to live with me." He finishes the sentence head high, his expression unreadable.

"And why's that?" Though it was Robert who asks the question, it easily could've been you. The same issue interests you as well. Again, Connor's face turns into an angry shade of red and he mumbles something that sounds really close to "damn".

"I enjoy her company." He finally says a bit exhausted, his ears getting pinker with every passing second. He's _so _shy. Mr. Faulkner laughs loudly again and claps the young man on his shoulder in a friendly manner.

"That's close enough." He says, after composing himself.

Later that evening, Connor walks up to you and asks what the man, smelling strongly of rum, meant by what he said.

"Hopefully you'll figure it out soon." You say with a mysterious smile crawling up to your lips. He gulps at the sight of your expression and turns around abruptly, making a dash to his room.

***end of flashback****

You sigh at the memory and shake your head dismissively. You hear loud laughter coming from the direction of the Aquila, look up and chuckle yourself, seeing Connor being clapped hard on the back. The guys are teasing him, it's almost too obvious. About what though? You're eager to walk a bit closer, close enough to eavesdrop on the crew, but decide against it when you catch sight of Prudence and her six years old son, Hunter. The little boy notices you almost instantly and starts to wave fervently. You giggle at the thought of him being always this cute and rush to the woman and her child.

..

"Come now, Captain!" Gunnery officer David Clutterbuck guffaws, clapping his own knees. "How much longer do you plan to ignore women?" Connor looks away, a sheepish look on his face.

"How old are you anyway?" Richard, David's brother, asks while reaching for the cup Mr. Faulkner offers him with a nod. The Aquila's captain grimaces, uncomfortably shuffling in one place. He knows it's probably time for settling down with a woman and start a family but he's not sure how to approach the matter. Especially since he doesn't really know the girl he thinks may be worth picking out feels anything towards him at all. How could he be sure about _her _feelings when he himself can't figure out what lives in his heart? There's something deep inside, he just knows it, but how strong is it? How true is it? Is it enough? Would it last? _What _is it?

"I am 28." A whistle makes its way through the noise of the men, its owner is most likely impressed by the fact that his captain didn't turn into a crazy mess without sexual contact for this long. Connor glances at Faulkner, something aching to a plea visible on his features. Robert sends him a sly smirk and sips at his drink. That traitor.

"Now that's something! I couldn't wait for so long. I have my urges and they need to be taken care of. Who could do that better than a woman?" Everyone agrees, laughing and clapping each other on the back. A proud crowd of men, they are. The only exception is the native man with a tortured expression all over his face.

"Alright, alright, settle down, now would you? He has plenty of time, boys. He's still in his twenties." Mr. Faulkner speaks up at last. The young assassin nods at him gratefully and accepts the drink held out for him. He takes a sip then looks around the ship.

"Yeah, in his _late_ twenties. I don't want to brag –"

"But you will…" Richard interrupts his brother, rolling his eyes in mockery. Connor stifles a soft laugh and tones it down to a grin. He likes this crew, especially the two Clutterbucks. They never miss a chance to bicker about something trivial. David throws an ugly glare at his relative and turns back to his audience.

"As I was saying, I don't want to brag but when I was the Captain's age, oh my, I've already had my fair share of women. I have dozens of stories about courting and pampering women! For example the other night I was so horny, I literally saw stars in excitement when this lady with big, _biiig _titties finally got the matter in her hands. You should've seen her and what she could do with her mouth!" Connor almost chokes on his booze and starts to cough partly in embarrassment and party, of course, in hope the action would bias the subject. His private life is no one's business and most of all; he's not remotely interested in his crew mates' sexual adventures!

"Yeah, well –"Another man, this one called Patrick, joins in with a wicked smirk on his face. "– I'm not even 25 but my current girl is the 6th in the line!" The men congratulate the young lad and start to count their women loudly. Connor is just standing there; a bit off to the side, clutching the jug filled with alcohol to the rim, not sure how to participate in the conversation anymore. Actually, he doesn't really want to be part of it now. It's disturbing and inappropriate in his eyes. He wouldn't gossip about his lover and their intimate activities. That's their own business; it should be kept strictly between the two of them.

So he turns and looks off to the bank, observing the people come-and-go with a content expression on their faces. He smiles at the busy scene and wonders how life would be, were he not an assassin just a regular 28 years old man. Would he be married with a child on its way? Would he still live at the homestead? Would he have this conversation with these men, just him being the one teasing another boy about his bleak sexual life? Would his mother still be dead and his father just as indifferent as he had been? He doesn't know. Maybe it's better this way. He has a purpose, a goal ahead of him now and he's content with how things turned out at the end. He has a few regrets but he has no time to dwell on them.

"What about _that_ missy, Captain?" James, the newest member to the crew, asks, stepping next to him. Connor's been staring at Prudence and _her_listening to whatever Hunter's saying, without him even noticing what he's doing. His crew of course perceived. Connor does a double-take then looks down into his beverage. Its color is fascinating and it smells really good and he just wants to ignore the question. "You live with her, right?"

"Oh, they're just friends! You know how it is these days… Young people living together out of friendliness." Robert Faulkner pipes up. "It doesn't matter that half the world can see through them and their feelings towards each other." He continues to no one in particular, muttering under his breathe.

"We _are_ friends." Connor says with a sigh. He's really annoyed by this topic now.

"Yeah, well, that's good but don't you want to be more than that?" Richard walks up to him and mirrors the captain's position. Now there're two of them leaning on the rail. Connor turns to him bewildered, eyes extremely wide. He wants to shake his head, say no, laugh out loud but somehow can't. He feels his face heating up and bows his head in embarrassment.

"She's pretty, don't you think?" David asks from behind them.

"No questioning that! She's a right beauty." Patrick, the not even 25 years old lad exclaims enthusiastically. Connor narrows his eyes at that but doesn't look at him in fear his expression would give his feelings away.

"Yeah, exactly! Can you imagine that body on top of you? I'd kill for her to be mine for just at least once." James says, grinning from ear to ear. That's when something in Connor snaps and he straightens up, turning on the crew with a dangerous look on his face.

"I am going to ask her to be my wife!" He lashes out, with an almost feral expression. The men present and a few down at the bottom of the ship, just about to board it, fall into silence. Connor inhales sharply, realizing what he said and turning tomato red.

"Isn't that a bit rash?" Mr. Faulkner asks, being the first to sober from the shock. The native lad looks at him, urging him to continue. He's not yet ready to speak up again. "You were just friends a few minutes ago. Are you sure you want to marry her this quickly?"

"Well.." Connor starts uncertainly, stopping after just one word. "I-uh…" Patrick turns around and leans on the rail again, but this time his back and elbows are supporting him not his forearm. He arches an eyebrow at James, who's trying really hard not to laugh. This big, sturdy Mohawk man with red face and a sheepish expression is a rather comical sight. No matter, his loyal crew waits patiently for him to man up and talk his mind.

"She once said that I am…uh, handsome." The men around him laugh, saying that it doesn't necessarily mean that she'll say yes to his blunt proposal. Connor remains silent, not wanting to tell them it was just a reaction caused by panic that one of them will steal her before he can figure out what he feels about her exactly. Let them think what they want, it's okay with him until the lot of them stay away from her.


	4. Mission

**_[headcanon: _****_esteljune:_****_  
Iwas thinking about how hard would be for Connor's love interest just watching him walk away every time. Without knowing if he would come back hurt or if he would come back at all…  
I imagine her just staring blankly at his wide back and shoulders, knowing she could do nothing to help him or at least he wouldn't let her.]_**

**_..._**

The door of his room is open and you can hear the little noises he makes while preparing. Another mission. You knew for a long time now that this would happen soon. He's been home for months without a single mission to take care of. It was strange, to be honest. Him being at the homestead more than just one or two weeks in a row. You sit up in your wide bed and search the room with your eyes for your bathrobe. You find it in a few seconds but don't get out of bed to get it. Would it be wise to bother him now? He's usually awfully quiet and moody before each mission. You clutch at your hair and with a sigh mess it up then crawl out of bed. You step into a pair of white slippers and pull on the purple bathrobe that's been hanging on the back of the chair in front of your vanity. Walking slowly towards Connor's room you suddenly realize that you must look terrible and comb your hair with your fingers, rub the dream out of your eyes and pinch your cheeks a few times so they'll be a bit redder.

You stop in front of his room and reach out to knock on the door frame. He looks up from his activities, surprise written over his face.

"Good morning, Connor." You greet him. When he doesn't answer, you walk up to him and take the blanket from his hand and fold it for him.

"It is still early." He says, watching you with narrowed eyes.

"Yes, I know that." You reply calmly and he frowns at you.

"But you are awake."

"Mhmm."

"Why?" You turn to him and hand back the now neatly folded blanket. He puts it in his packet, never getting his eyes off of you. You shrug, wanting to leave the issue behind. He continues to stare at you, his beautiful brown eyes boring into yours. You have the sudden urge to kiss him right then and there but you're aware of the fact that he's soul is damaged and he needs time to heal. You're not sure how much more but you'll be patient.

You've kissed before, once at the dock when he was just coming back from a naval mission and you couldn't control yourself anymore. It was in the heat of the moment, you were so happy to see him in one piece and you could tell that he was pleased to see you waiting for him at the dock too. You'll never forget his face after the kiss though. That shocked, innocent face staring at you with confusion written all over it. You apologized then promised you'll never do this again without him agreeing.

"What?" You ask after a while.

"Why are you up?"

"I didn't want you to feel lonely when you leave." You say at last. He blinks at you, probably not believing his ears. It's true though. You always thought he must feel really alone, leaving at early dawn by himself, with no one saying goodbye to him. When he leaves at early morning you always try to wake up in time, when he decides to set off late at night you try to stay up and can almost succeed every time. But when you sleep in and wake up long after he left or fall asleep much sooner you usually do, your heart clenches and you feel guilty until he comes back and smiles at you.

"You should sleep." He says, turning his back on you. You snort; thinking his suggestion rather hilarious, waltz up to his bed and plop down. Although you can clearly see he's not pleased with your decision, he says nothing but instead checks his weapon kit once again. Your eyes wander about the objects laid out on the bed and find his much favored tomahawk. You squint at him then reach for the weapon. He's monitoring your every movement but remains silent and after checking his packet for the thousandth time, he seals it and throws it over his shoulder. You look up at him, feeling his stare burning your skin, while testing the tomahawk's edge with your index finger.

"Careful." He murmurs and you smirk up at the assassin. You lock eyes with him, his brown ones burning with something you can't quite put your finger on, and yours with challenge. Connor watches you spin the weapon once then again with wide eyes. He snatches it from your hand, hitches it to his belt and narrows his eyes at you. You know he's impressed but also he can get so worried by petty things like this that you figure the latter is most likely. Even if he's enthralled by your performance with his killing device, his silly notion of taking care of you and protecting you from everything, everyone and from yourself as well, excludes the prospect of him being honestly impressed. And that kind of pisses you off so you roll your eyes and stand up.

He shakes his head in disbelief and walks out of the room, fully prepared for the journey. You follow him with a heavy heart, instantly forgetting the previous exchange between the two of you, and gulp down the lump in your throat. You hate saying goodbye, especially to him. But how could you let him go without wishing him luck and threatening him to come back alive or else, you'll just kill him over again? How? That's not possible. He has to hear these things so he makes sure he comes back then leave again to listen to you and your awkward farewell again. Yes, it's necessary.

"Ah, Connor, please wait here!" You suddenly exclaim, slapping your forehead because of your own silliness. You almost forgot the most important thing, for heaven's sake! He starts to object but you send him a pointed look and say: "Just one minute, don't worry."

You rush into the kitchen then return shortly with a bundle in your hands. Connor looks at the pack then back up at you, his eyes full of tenderness. You give him a shy smile and offer him the food prepared by you. He steps closer but doesn't reach for the dish. You exhale loudly and step forward so you can hand it to him. You clasp your hands around his when he finally accepts the food and squeeze them, knowing the gesture tells tales. His lips pull into a crooked smile and he shyly caresses your upper hand with his thumb. You close your eyes tightly and bit down on your bottom lip.

He turns to leave.

You don't want to follow him anymore. You don't want to watch him go away for the umpteenth time and do nothing to make it easier for him. You want to help _so _much and still can't. It's just not fair! Why wouldn't he let you lift some of his burdens off of his shoulders and carry yourself? Or at least why wouldn't he let the weight be split between the two of you and cooperate? That stubborn chump.

As much as you want to resist going after him and instead run up the stairs and drown yourself in your sheets, those traitorous legs of yours get a mind of their own and hurry out. He's already sitting in the saddle of his horse and heading towards the narrow path that leads to Boston. You're standing on the porch, at the top of the stairs, and follow him with sad eyes. You stare ahead of yourself blankly, his wide back drawing your attention by every passing second. He could forbid you to go with him and get involved with the brotherhood's affairs but he just can't tell you what, when and how you could say.

"Connor!" You shout, pulling the bathrobe you're wearing tighter around your body, and run after him. In your hurry you leave the white slippers behind somewhere between the porch and the tree Connor stops next to. He turns towards you, still sitting on the horse, and gives a choking sound. "Connor, wait!" You notice that the Mohawk man's eyes are pleading when you get close enough to see them clearly. Pleading for what? Whatever he wants to achieve with that look doesn't concern you, because you have things to say and do.

"You will catch a cold." He scolds you. You wave his comment off, mumbling an 'I don't care' and put your right hand on the mare's neck. You take a deep breath and muster up the courage to speak.

"Come back." You say at last in a faint voice. His eyes widen, his lips part slightly. "Promise me this, Connor!" He nods shakily and moves to get off the horse. You take a step backwards so he can land in front of you. When he is indeed standing right in front of you, an uptight expression spreading over his face, you look deep into his eyes. His eyelids flicker.

"You have to come back, you hear me?! I want to see you again." He nods again, stepping a bit closer. He's getting too close; you'll be unable to control yourself and your overflowing feelings at this rate. Although you know it would be best to avoid an embarrassing action, you don't move but stand still. "You know I can't really function without you." He chuckles softly and shakes his head.

"That is not true. You just need me to open jars and start a fire."

"Isn't that enough?" You laugh and reach out for him but change your mind in fear he'd pull away. To your greatest surprise, he blinks at you confusedly then pulls you into a comforting embrace. You exhale loudly and return the hug.

"I have to go." He says without letting go of you. His hot breath tickles your neck and you have to hold back the shudder that's dangerously close to go through your whole body.

"Alright." You whisper, clutching the back of his assassin robe. He pulls back slowly, every movement just as gentle as it can get. You're ready to let go of him but he's still holding your hands, his thumbs writing circles on the back of them.

"I will be back soon, do not worry." You nod, not trusting your voice entirely. "My contract says it is just a few days." Another nod, a slight smile. He's sharing, splitting up the burden. He lets go of your hands then turns to his loyal horse and mounts her. He looks back at you.

"Will you be alright?"

"Of course." You say at last, finding your voice again. He smiles at you, a true, wide smile then taps the horse's sides with his heels and rides away.


	5. Wounds

_**[Headcanon: Connor coming home from a mission bleeding, his LI treating his wounds and begging him to be more careful/stop the whole thing/whatever. I think she would be really worried for him. idea by dat-smirk]**_

_****__There might be typos coz it's not betad yet. Sorry for them. Enjoy, guys! :3_

_**...**_

_****_The first few times she was fussing about for hours, scolding me fervently, telling me how reckless I tend to be all the time. I found it endearing, her concern touched me. Back then we were just two friends, dealing with each other's strange habit, warming up to one another. It was much easier to come home to a friend rather than a lover. My friend would not cry, she would be scared of course, but she would not shed a tear. At least, not in front of me. My friend's hands would not shake while she is taking care of my wounds. She would get herself together, put on her brave face and just act out of instinct, without thinking. My friend would occasionally yell at me and vow to the gods that she will not treat my injuries a next time. She would forbid me to go on another mission until I am fully recovered and send me an angry glare. She would look after me for the days to come and say "Well, sweetheart, you look terrible" over and over again until my skin returns to copper from purple and green, the swellings disappear and the cuts start to fade.

But my lover is another story. My lover is more complex, more vulnerable and more afraid of an injured Connor coming home. My lover cries the moment she sees me limping up to the manor, clutching the blooded fabric at my side. She is rooted to the ground, her small, delicate hands covering her trembling mouth. When our eyes meet her expression turns into a devastated one and shakes her head in disbelief. She cannot move, she is just standing on the porch, waiting for me to get to her. When I do, she lowers her hands from her lips and reaches out for me, her whole body shaking. She touches my neck, checking my pulse, making sure it is high enough to pass as regular. After she is done with that she moves up to my face and cups my cheek, her weak smile washed away by her hot tears.

"Do not cry, Love." I say and she gasps back a loud sob. Her thumb runs over my lips and she exhales the breath she was holding.

"Connor." She says softly, tracing a scar behind my left ear with her fingers. I can see the signs of her lack of sleep.

"You have not been sleeping." I do not ask, it is not a question. I know her well, we have been friends for two years and now we are in our seventh month as lovers. She abandons the scar on my neck and digs her fingers into my hair and starts to massage my scalp.

"I miss your mohawk." She whispers and I notice new tears forming in the corner of her eyes. "I felt like it made you stronger." She knows that the hair style does not matter but for her this thought means consolation. I nod and lean closer, touching my forehead to hers. Her eyes close the moment our skin makes contact and I let myself relax a bit. My smile appears unconsciously but I do not hide it. Not anymore. I take her hands in mine and squeeze them, ensuring her of my presence. She pulls back and guides me back into the house. She is silent, her sobs died down, her tears stopped pouring. When she pushes me down into an armchair and turns to bring her usual equipment, I frown and start to wonder.

She is awfully quiet. More than she usually is. I did not die; I am here and not remotely in horrible condition either. I am fine, just a few bruises and cuts but that is rather common for someone in my profession. She returns with a basin filled with tepid water, a sponge, a towel and her little first-aid kit. She starts to tend to my injuries, wordlessly indicating what to do; how to move so it would not hurt that much and so she could reach every single wound on my body. She does not even flinch when I peel off my robe and shirt and show her the gaping cut on my side, near the rib cage. Although she does not flinch, new tears make their way down her cheeks, making me feel the guilt that usually wells up in me when I see her cry. She is gently patting the region of the wound with the wet sponge when I cannot take it anymore and grab her wrist. She whips her head upwards in alarm.

"Did I hurt you?" She asks hurriedly.

"No." I say, hardening me gaze. "What is the problem?" She looks at me confusedly but nevertheless starts to wash the gore off my skin again.

"Nothing." She says simply, a shrug following immediately. Unfortunately for her, I am not buying it.

"Something is bothering you, I can see it." She stops half way down to my waist and holds onto me. Her grip is light, not hurting me at all.

"I love you." Her voice low, head bowed, eyes covered by her hair falling in front of her.

"I know, Love." I whisper, tucking some of her silky hair behind her ear so I could see a part of her face.

"And you love me, right?"

"Unconditionally." She lets go of a small, soft smile, looks up at me, bores her as good as begging eyes into mine and says:

"Then stop it." What? Loving her? My eyebrows furrow and I take her hands in mine.

"Stop what?" She pulls one hand out of my grasp and points at my many scars, be it old or freshly treated.

"This! Getting hurt, going away and making me worried." She is crying again, much more painfully than before. "Aren't you the slightest concerned of your own well being?"

"I thought you understand." My voice barely more than a whisper.

"I understand!" She exclaims, her free hand rubbing my forearm soothingly. "Honestly, I do." Her sobs are getting quiet again; I can see her struggle to hold them back.

"Then you know I cannot do that. Not yet." I let go of her hand and lean back to the back of the chair. She bites down on her bottom lip and squeezes her eyes shut. She wants to be the friend who didn't cry. The friend who, although worried, laughed at me when I returned with a black eye, asking "Not your lucky day, huh, sweetheart?" then patting me on the cheek waved me towards our usual first-aid chair.

"After I have rebuilt the American Brotherhood and trained the recruits, I am going to retire, marry you and have children. I promise." Her eyes turn to me, shock written all over her face. Oh my god, I have just proposed to her! I mean, I have been thinking about it a lot lately but I thought it would be best to wait with this. Does she even want to marry me, who has caused her so much pain, put her through so much suffering? She is strong, she is brave but not enough to last forever. On the day of my 30th birthday she told me how desperately she wants to have children. We made love that night for the first time and we're together since then. I know she wants family and that she cannot wait for me forever but I would really like her to be my woman for the rest of my life. She is the best thing that had happened to me my whole life and I cannot bear the thought of losing her because of my job. The least I can do is tell her my intentions and promise her that everything is going to be just like she has planned.

"You want to marry me?" She asks, sobering from the shock. I can feel my face heating up, a blush making its way to my cheeks, but nod shyly. I thought it was obvious by now. Prudence said it radiates off of me.

"Of course! You would make a perfect wife." I say at last, swallowing down the lump in my throat.

"Uh huh." She is being sarcastic, her raised eyebrow tells tales. I am sure my smile is bashful enough to make me look stupid but I cannot help it. She is very good at getting me embarrassed.

"And I… I love you." She gasps. She always does that when I tell her I love her. She gasps then stands up from her kneeling position and straddles me slowly, gently, making sure she does not hurt me. She cups my cheeks, smiling all the while, and carefully kisses my swollen lips.

"So how much more till you rebuild the brotherhood?" She grins at me slyly, wiggling her eyebrows.


	6. The pub

**[Headcanon: I've always had this fantazy of Desmond having sex with a girl on top of the bar after closing hours but I bet if Connor were to work at the pub too, the girl would notice him and eventually chose the Mohawk babe instead.]**

****_(Yay, it's done! Hope you like it. ^-^ If there're typos, I'm really sorry about them!)_

**….**

„You know…uh, what was your name again?" The bartender looks up from his task of cleaning the bar with a white cloth and raises and eyebrow at you. You flash a toothed grin at him and stir the Margarita with the little blue umbrella you insisted on getting. He sighs and continues wiping the counter.

"Desmond." He says gruffly.

"Desmond!" You exclaim excitedly then look off to the right, searching for your friend. When you spot her, talking up an older business man, your smile gets even wider and turn back to your only company. "That's actually a cool name."

"Thanks." Desmond says, pushing two jars of beer to a blonde, lanky guy to the far end of the bar.

"No, no, thank _you _for sharing!" He snorts at your enthusiasm and tosses a refilled bowl of peanuts in front of you.

"You should eat something." When you just look at him in total confusion he sighs again, damn this dude sighs a lot, and says: "That's your fourth cocktail. You're going to be wasted in an hour if you don't eat." He is so wrong, ladies and gents, it almost hurts. Everybody at college knows that you can handle your liquor pretty well to be honest.

"Ah, naah." This is your only answer, since you don't want to offend him and tell him to just shut up and listen to what you have to say.

"You're getting there already." He just continues to bug you further it seems. You shrug and eagerly gulp down the last drops of the delicious Margarita.

"I'd like to have another one." You say, smiling sweetly. He shakes his head, points at the bowl full of peanuts and starts to mix your second favorite cocktail. Though you enjoy quite a lot of different cocktails, nothing can beat Singapore Sling in your books. You stare down into the lime colored bowl and grimace in thought. Desmond's probably right about you being close to getting awfully drunk so you decide to be a good girl and start to pop the salty munchies into your mouth. While the attractive bartender is creating your beverage, you scan the busy pub with your eyes again. Your friend is still with that suit-clad rich looking man, merrily laughing and talking the night away, the guy you bumped into when entering the place is now hungrily kissing a chubby girl and the bouncer is still standing stock still in a corner, his eyes moving swiftly around the room.

"You know Desmond; I've been fantasizing about you for at least half an hour now." You say suddenly, your words directed to the man fixing a slice of lime to the edge of your glass, but your eyes stay on the bouncer. Desmond coughs in surprise, maybe from almost choking on his own saliva. You turn to him and thank the drink by raising the glass to him. You take a sip and close your eyes in bliss after swallowing the liquid. "So as I was saying…" You continue with your full attention on the young man standing in front of you, who's pouring three shots of tequila. "I have this crazy fantasy about having sex with you after closing hours on the bar. What do you think?" It's not intentional, but you lower your voice into a seductive purring. You hear the all too familiar sound of breaking glass and not too long after, the swearing of the pub's handsome bartender. You giggle, take the lime into your mouth and start to suck on it.

"Wha-what?" Desmond asks straightening, after the mess is successfully cleaned up.

"I'd like to have rough sex with you on top of this counter, Desmond. I've been fantasizing about that for more than half an hour now." His face starts to redden, shock written all over it. You tend to be rather bold at time, particularly when you've had one or two. "The sad part for you though is that I'm getting all hot and bothered for that bouncer over there." You say, nodding towards a tall, muscular guy with copper skin and a well styled mohawk, standing in a corner near the entrance. Desmond follows your gaze and snorts when his eyes land on the person you're referring to.

"You mean Connor?" You look back at him and grimace in a mocking fashion.

"I don't know his name, I'm not a clairvoyant." Desmond laughs cheerfully and pours another round of tequilas for the young men having a pre bachelor party. He hands out the drinks and the orange slices then taps a glass of beer to a brooding man in his forties.

"Why are you alone, by the way?" He asks, after putting the weeping alcohol on a beermat. You jerk your head in the direction of the table of your friend and her newest conquest.

"That chick over there replaced me with some old dude." Desmond frowns at the scene but gets distracted when a too drunk for his own good guy hollers over the noise, demanding a shot of whiskey.

"Chill it, amico!" Someone with a slight Italian accent calls from beside you. Desmond grins at the new comer and tosses the whiskey to the impatient customer.

"Ezio, hey!" You look to Desmond then back at this Ezio fella and raise an eyebrow. You've seen this man before, you're sure of it. "Shift's over already?"

"Yeah, yeah. I thought it would be nice to come and have a few words." He grins at you, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. _Ah, the DJ! _You remember suddenly. Desmond snorts for the thousandth time now and wipes off the bar.

"With me or the lady?" He asks, still grinning from ear to ear.

"Well, both." Ezio replies, accepting the wine Desmond's already poured out for him. You finish your Margarita and hop off the barstool, surprising the two friends.

"Sorry but I dig Connor." You direct your words to Ezio then turn to Desmond and flash him a sweet smile. "It was nice chatting with you, Desmond! I'll be sure to come another time soon." You walk off rashly, waving to your friend on the way, leaving a confused Ezio and a smirking Desmond in your wake.

"Connor has a girlfriend?" Ezio's disbelieving question is the last thing you hear from your previous company's conversation.

…

You're roughly pulled into the manager's office and almost instantly slammed onto its door by the large body of Connor. You gasp in sweet pain and smirk into the kiss the bouncer initiated. You take his face by the sides and deepen the kiss which becomes hungrier and hungrier as the moments pass by.

You've been annoying him for days now by telling him stories that happened to you, cracking jokes, questioning him about his likes and dislikes (though he rarely answered), complimenting him on random stuff, mainly his looks and voice. Your boldness seemed to faze him pretty much always and it's gotten you even more curious, excited. Despite all the muscles and the stern look on his face, this young man is a really sweet and innocent soul. He needed some time to open up and you were glad to give him the right amount just so you could enjoy its benefits later. And enjoy you did!

The fact that he just needed one word to be triggered like this is still beyond you. One short Mohawk word you looked up in a dictionary a few days ago. **_'Nia:wen' _**Since you became pretty good friends with Desmond through the nights you've spent at the bar, discussing the matters of life with him, you managed to get some information of Connor out of him. The bartender told you of the bouncer's Native American heritage, of his father being a sassy, stuck up British asshole and his mother's early death. The one thing that excited you the most about Connor besides him being really friendly, nice and a good listener is him being half Mohawk. So you searched the internet, found some valid information about natives and now you're here, making out with one.

"Oh, god." You moan, pulling away from him a bit, throwing your head back when he grabs your legs and pushes them up so he can grind into you. His face is red but other than that nothing indicates that he's embarrassed. You can feel his hard member pulsing under his black jeans and you get aroused just by the thought of it even existing. "Connor." You breathe, pushing him away lightly. The native man looks into your eyes and you need to squeeze your eyes shut for a moment so you can sober from the haze the situation created.

"Yes?" He asks politely but waits no more than two seconds before his lips wander off to your neck and start to cover it with hot, open mouthed kisses.

"Put me…" Connor nibbles on a sensitive spot and you stop abruptly. You can feel his bold smirk on your skin and for this you give his waist a squeeze with your thighs. He jerks a bit under you and inhales sharply. "Put me down." You say at last and start to maneuver him towards the heavy desk in the middle of the office as soon as the young bouncer lets you slide off of the door, kissing and smirking all the while. When he bumps into the edge of the desk you wink at him slyly and go down into a crouch so you can get in eye level with his fly. He looks down at you with wide eyes, not believing what he's witnessing. You unbuckle his leather belt; undo the button above the zipper then with one swift movement unzip the only thing that separates you from his boxers and the throbbing manhood you long to see.

Connor groans when you pull on his jeans and boxers at the same time, finally freeing his member. Upon seeing it, you unconsciously lick your lips and glance up into his eyes quickly, with a crooked smile. You still don't take it into your hand just observe it, wanting to remember every muscle and vein visible through the skin. You can see pre-cum on the tip and you giggle girlishly after licking it off tentatively. It's not your first time giving a blow job but it's definitely your first time giving one to a gorgeous man like Connor.

"Please." He whispers weakly, thrusting his erected shaft a bit in your direction. You smirk at it then grab it gently and start to stroke. Your hand goes up and down on his penis that is, by all means, worth mentioning and Connor's groans get louder with every movement. His tip is luring you closer and closer until you can't hold onto your senses anymore and kiss it a second time. The man standing above you whimpers and puts one of his large hands on top of your head, caressing it. You know what it means, what he wants so you stop moving your hand and put his cock into your mouth. You suck on his penis and stroke it with your right hand. Your other hand works its way up on the bouncer's thigh until you reached his hip then it comes down again and grab his knee so hard that he hisses. You can tell by the sounds he makes that this sweet pain just gets him more excited. Connor digs his fingers in your hair then grips a handful of them and dictates the pace. You love it when men are dominant but now you're the one who's pampering him. Your hand comes up from its previous place and squeezes the man's hand, signaling your wish. Connor gets the message and drops his hand to his side. When you start to pump his member in a wild pace while licking his cock with your strawberry tongue, he starts to fumble around; looking for something he can grab to hold himself up. He decides the edge of the mahogany desk is good enough so he clutches at it, his fingers going white.

„D-damn…woman!" Connor says overpowered by the pleasure he feels. You lick, pump and stroke some more and when you feel your Mohawk man getting bigger in your mouth; he suddenly pushes your head away and pulls himself out. You stare up at him confusedly but you don't have time to ask what the problem is because the next thing you know is that you're almost literally thrown onto the desk he's been leaning on the whole time. His black pants and white boxer fall to the floor which he ignores and steppes out of them. You see him feeling much more convenient and chuckle at the expression spreading over his face. He stares heatedly into your eyes then your mouths crash together in a passionate frenzy of lips and moans. Connor's tongue makes its way into your cavern and explores it slowly, tasting every bit of you.

While kissing, Connor snuggles up to you and reaches behind you. He starts to shove the objects away from atop the hardwood table still kissing and groping you. When the surface of the desk is clear, the most handsome bouncer in the whole wide world grips your thighs, lifts you up from the floor and places you on the furniture. The two of you break apart and Connor starts to nibble on your earlobe. You moan his name while pulling his shirt over his head that has gotten slightly wet from the sweat. When the garment is finally off and your eyes start to eat up every little curve and bump of his naked upper body, you realize that you're at the pub, in the manager's office and most importantly, Connor should be working. The tall, muscular young man takes notice of your stoppage but doesn't care and carries on. He's now licking and sucking at your neck, leaving small hickeys on it. You try to pull away, make him stop and pay attention to you but he's busy making sure everybody can see that you're owned, by bruising your skin with his teeth.

„Connor…ahh, we should stop." He silences you with a wet kiss then resumes his work on your neck.

„Why?" The aroused man murmurs against your sensitive skin. You whimper but manage to pull yourself together rather quickly and grab him by the shoulders and push him away a bit.

„Listen…we can't do this in here. What if Malik comes in?" Connor smiles awkwardly, glancing around the room.

„You seemed to like the idea just minutes ago." He points out matter-of-factly.

„I know but…" Connor puts his index finger on your lips and stares deeply in your eyes.

„Shh…Trust me!" And with that he captures your lips with his and tears up the satin blouse you're wearing. You shriek quietly, if it's even possible, utterly surprised then look at the man and study his feral expression. It looks nice on him you decide. You like it. A content smile appears on your lips and then you help your "partner in crime" to undress yourself. When the blouse falls to the ground, Connor unfastens the clasp of your bra and quickly slides the straps down your arms. He stares at your bosom, most likely wanting to taste them, but changes his mind and lowers his head to kiss your shoulder first. After that, he reaches down to your groin and unzips the fly of your light colored jeans. He tugs it down with the help of you lifting your hips a bit. Connor throws the garment with your panties to the side and then looks his target up and down.

„You are beautiful." He says, smirking. You hold onto his broad shoulders, your fingers caressing his tight muscles that had gotten bigger and stronger by working out daily. Connor makes soft sounds of approval above you as you lower your head to kiss your way down on his upper body. You lick, bite and kiss him sexily while moaning from the feel of his hot skin under your lips. You know that this is what drives a lot of men crazy. The moaning. Your voice tends to change during sex into a much deeper but still quite feminine one. You hear his respiration starting to grow faster and you stop your ministrations for a bit. The both of you are naked now and that means the start of your actual love making. Or should it be called 'screwing' by the looks of things?

Connor pulls you up and starts to kiss you fiercely while leading your right hand to his erected throbbing member. You take it and start to pump it in a fast pace. You're excited just as much as him but try to hide it behind a cool expression. Connor spreads your legs with one of his hands and moves closer. You release his manhood and dig your nails in his shoulders. The tip of his penis touches your opening but he's still not making a move to penetrate yet. He's just teasing you and the knowledge of it just makes you even more anxious. He reaches down to your slit and sticks his middle finger into your opening. You moan and reach down as well to add two other fingers of his to the first one.

„Impatient are we?" He grins while thrusting into you. You nod your head before a winded moan passes your lips. Connor leans forward and kisses your left nipple. He starts to suck it then bite down on it, earning a muffled cry. He licks it affectionately to ease the pain you feel.

„God, Connor…" You're moaning helplessly, clutching his shoulders.

„Yeah…I can feel it. Go ahead!" He starts to pound his fingers into you faster and faster until he feels your walls tighten, pulls them out and then thrusts into you again now with his large penis. You come in that moment he chooses to penetrate. Connor gives no time for you to calm down or even your breathing, but starts to move into you in a fair rhythm. You furl your legs around his waist and pull him closer to you, embracing his neck. He starts to whisper Mohawk words into your ear in a husky voice, making you get impossibly wet.

„Can you…ahh…" You start but stop midway because of the pleasure he is giving you. Connor buries his face into your neck and puffs while thrusting evenly.

„W-what?" He grunts out.

„Can you…Can you go f-faster?" You stammer out finally. Connor makes a nearly animalistic sound and pounds faster and harder into you. You mew while letting go of your partner's neck and falling to the hardwood desk. You lean on your elbows and enjoy the feeling of the big member moving in and out of you. Connor gets hold of your right thigh and pushes that down to your upper body. Your other leg is still curled around his waist but this way he can move closer to you. He places his hands next to your sides on the table and thrusts deeper into you. You reach down between the two of you and start to irritate your clit.

Connor looks down; wanting to know what is it that you're doing. He grins and pushes your hand away to take his turn in the teasing. You grab his hand that is still on the desk and clung to it. Connor slows down and you're not sure why. He starts to dictate a slower pace while leaning down to you and kissing you on the lips deeply. You embrace him and stroke his sweaty, muscular back. You murmur a few kind words you learned in his native language to his lips then kiss him chastely. Connor smiles into the kiss then starts to thrust into you faster his climax getting closer. You curl both of your long legs around his waist and snuggle even closer to him. Connor pulls away and licks his mouth then stares into your shining eyes. You squeeze your eyes shut and cry out when you feel your second orgasm overtaking your body and mind. Your legs suddenly press to him hard as you stiffen, your hips lifting off the desk as you try to choke your scream. He lets out a loud grunt as he rams into you, releasing inside of you mere moments later. You move a bit with one another in the last waves of your release then collapse into each others arms. He is breathing hard against your shoulder while caressing your breasts gently.

"We made a mess." You say chuckling as you look around yourselves. A deep approving sound makes its way up Connor's throat as he pulls away and straightens up. He helps you off of the desk and scans the floor for your clothes. You're standing in front of the mahogany furniture and watch him picking up your stuff quietly.

"Here." He says, handing you your clothes, and leans in to peck you on the lips. You get dressed quickly, being more aware of the danger of Malik, the pub's manager, entering in any given moment. After the two of you makes sure that every piece of clothing is straight and in place on you, you gently open the door of the office and peek out.

"Clear." Connor says, takes your hand and pulls you off to the corner he usually stands watch.

…

Half and hour later you're still in the pub, sipping at a Margarita, made by your favorite bartender. The grin visible on your face is impossible to wipe off but you don't give a rat's ass about it. You glance around the spacious place and smile unconsciously every time your eyes catch Connor. He smirks at you knowingly but stays still, holding his position. A guy in his early twenties accidentally bumps into the half Mohawk and he furrows his eyebrows at the poor kid. You laugh out loud at the scared expression of the youngster, startling an almost zombie-like drunk man sitting next to you. He spills his beer onto the bar and cusses under his breath.

"Relax, Carl." Desmond snorts and wipes the beverage off of the counter, winking at you all the while.


	7. He's a cuddler

_**This is really short and pretty random as well. Not exactly a headcanon but easily could be if you think about it. :D It just popped in my mind. Enjoy! :)**_

You wake with a start, coming out of a dream too hazy now to recall fully but all too familiar in itself not to remember snippets of it. You exhale heavily and glance around the room. Your eyebrows pull together when you realize that it's not yours. You see too many things related to another culture, not yours, too many weapons on the wall, spread out here and there on the floor, dirty-white robes hanging on the back of a chair, a pair of moccasins carelessly placed next to the chair's leg and so much more. These are Connor's belongings, you're in his room. You shiver, at first you think it's because of the thought that you're currently in the room of your "landlord", but then you look down and see your naked upper body. Your eyes widen and you swiftly reach for the covers crumpled around your legs then pull it over your exposed skin.

You feel the bed's surface moving a bit, the mattress sinking ever so slightly under the weight of another body. You dare to turn your gaze towards the other occupant of the bed and when your eyes settle on the beautiful copper skinned owner of the room, you gasp for air, suddenly not remembering how to breathe. You slept with him. You slept with Connor. Oh dear Lord, what now? It's not like you don't remember how the two of you ended up making love or that you're surprised, because truth be told, this was bound to happen, it's just you cannot fathom why this perfect, precious man chose you. He's too good to be yours. You have so many flaws, so many unbearable, annoying quirks, so many unresolved things yet to be taken care of from your past and you're just too selfish to share him with the others he so wants to protect. You can't ask him to choose between you and his profession, it wouldn't be fair. So you smile down at this perfect young man, marvel in his gorgeousness for a bit then place a light kiss on his temple and carefully slip out of the bed, his cover still wrapped around you.

You're already at the door, just about to cross the threshold when you hear him call after you sleepily. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to calm your heartbeat then turn just so he could see you. You can barely make out his features in the candle lit room but his expression seems confused from where you're standing.

"Where are you going?" He asks, pulling himself up into a sitting position, causing the covers hiding his body to fall off into his lap. You feel your cheeks heating up, a blush surely crawling its way up onto them. "Are you alright?" His question sobers you and you manage to tear your eyes away from his muscular chest and abs.

"Yes, don't worry." You nod and pull the cloth around you tighter. He smiles then and pats the abandoned but probably still warm spot beside him. You avert his eyes, knowing that looking inside those deep brown pools will just make it harder for you.

"Please," He says, eyes turning to that puppy look you hate so much because it can make you do anything he wants. "Come here." You sigh in defeat and walk up to the bed, plopping down on it and scooting closer to Connor. He smiles at you sweetly, a rare sight, but all the more precious. You return the gesture and lean in for a peck on the lips.

"Did you sleep well?" You ask, your foreheads still touching. He gives a soft affirmative sound in the back of his throat and cups your cheeks in his big, callused hands.

"Did you?" Connor whispers, tucking a curl of your hair behind your left ear. You grab his hand, hovering over your ear, and pull away from him slightly so you can kiss his fingers.

"Yes, though I had a dream that bothers me sometimes." You say, gently pecking his knuckles one by one.

"What about?" You smile up at him and now kiss his lips affectionately but slowly, giving him a chance to escape it if he feels the pace too fast. He doesn't even flinch; he seems to be fully invested.

"I can't remember it, just the feeling of uneasiness."

"I see." He looks off to the side for just a moment then turns back to you and pulls you into a hug and down along with him into a lying position. You snuggle up to him as he presses you tightly to his body and settle your head in the crook of his neck. He's a cuddler, you observe. That's cute. This big, sturdy Mohawk warrior likes to cuddle before, during and after sex as well. You wouldn't know if he is this generous in giving away hugs at other times too because you've never really hugged before. He would pat you on the shoulder, gently touch your elbow or pull you into an awkward half embrace by your shoulder once or twice but he'd never truly hug you. He's smiled a lot at you lately but since he's a rather kind hearted man and you've become close friends, it's not that surprising anymore. So now that his arms are securely around your body, you pull yourself up a little and kiss his Adam's apple then lie back and enjoy the moment.

Maybe you don't have to share with anyone after all. Maybe he'll be like this all the time he puts down his tomahawk and assassin's robes. Maybe he'll forget everything concerning Templars, the Brotherhood, wars and missions when he comes home to you and just kiss and hug and make sweet love to you without a second thought. Maybe you'll be good with him being an assassin after all. Maybe he'll get selfish too and one day gives up being one and never leaves again. Maybe the two of you can figure it out, make it work. Together.

"Hey, Ratonhnhaké:ton?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad you made it back alive." He whispers something in your ears but before you can comprehend what he said, sleep pulls you in its embrace again.


	8. Trapped

**_[Headcanon: hiropon056:_**

**_I have the headcanon that Connor gets to know his LI because she is stuck in one of Myriam's Foothold traps. Since for me she is someone like San. so wild and from the woods and she was probably fleeing from something, came through the homestead and got trapped in one of those and Myriam would call for Connor when she finds her in the morning.]_**

**...**

_Shit, shit, shit, they're still coming. _You keep running, you don't care about your sore legs or about how you can barely breathe anymore, you just run through the dusky forest and hope they'll loose your trail soon. It's not the first time; you've been chased before but these damn poachers just won't give up. _I should've just left and let them shoot that stag. _But of course you couldn't do that. The forest and its wildlife is your family, you had to save them. That stag was beautiful and it's breeding season so there's no way some brutal men could just waltz in and mess it up for the deer population.

You're still running but you can't hear the men's heavy breathing behind you or the barking of their dogs. Carefully, very carefully, you chance a look back and while you see no one rushing after you and feel relief washing through your body, something snaps in front of you. You want to jump back but it's too late now, your right leg is in the vice of a foothold trap.

"Aaarrgh, God!" You scream out in pain, collapsing into the dirt. You really don't want to cry but being stuck in a trap like this is not a walk in the park so angry tears start to pour down your face. There is so much blood everywhere that you start to gag, not being able to handle the sight of your own crimson colored blood. As much as your system urges you to throw up you pull yourself together and squeeze your eyes shut for a few minutes to calm yourself and forget what is streaming out of your leg. _Alright… Alright, everything is going to be okay. I can do this! _You open your eyes again and peek at the injured limb. _Oh my god, I'm going to die! I'm going to bleed out and that means I'm going to die. _Your eyes are squeezed shut once again but the tears can still make their way out form under your eyelashes. You want to move the leg trapped in the foothold but it's impossible. _It's definitely broken. I'm going to die. _Your whole body starts swaying; your head dizzy and you know these are the signs of fainting. You can't pass out because that way there's a bigger chance for you to die before someone might find you and help.

You re-open your eyes for the second time since you've been caught by that damn trap and start to call for help.

…

After shouting for almost an hour, you hear footsteps coming into your direction and your heart starts to beat faster. You're praying to all the Gods above for this someone to be of help and not one of the poachers still sniffing around for you. The noise gets louder and louder by every passing second and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat, making you feel slightly sick. Not long after, a woman appears a bit off to your right, crossing the distance between the two of you swiftly. She stops about two steps away from you and observes you from there.

"Who are you?" She asks carefully.

"Someone stuck in a bear trap with a broken leg." You snap at her, not really in the mood to explain yourself. _I am who I am. _She raises an eyebrow at you but goes down into a crouch in front of you nonetheless. She doesn't even reach out to touch you, maybe because she sensed your mistrust, and examines your injury just by looking over your leg. She sighs and directs her gaze at you.

"I can't open it without hurting you more." She says at last after a few moments of hesitation. Your eyes widen at the thought of bleeding out in the middle of the forest for real and you clutch a handful of dirt from beside your bottom.

"So you're just going to leave me here?" You ask getting panicked.

"No." She shakes her head and a smile makes its way up to her lips. "You need to hold on for a bit more. I'm going to get a friend of mine. I'm sure he can help you." With that, she straightens and turns to walk away. "Can you make it?" She asks you, peeking back above her shoulder. You nod, though a bit uncertainly, and try to force something similar to a smile onto your face. You don't quite succeed, the kind gesture turns into a grimace but the brown haired woman doesn't seem to mind it at all. "Alright, we'll be back soon." When she takes a step forward you unconsciously reach out and call after her:

"Wait!" The young woman turns back slightly and looks at you questioningly. "What's your name?" You ask shamefully, realizing that you acted rather rudely. She chuckles then nods at you genially.

"Myriam." A soft, little smile appears on your lips at last and you take a deep breath.

"Thank you, Myriam."

…

You feel terrible by the time the familiar noise of someone, this time teamed up with another person, making their way towards you catches your attention. You feel as though the Earth is rotating too fast and the trees just can't stop moving. You can't tell if your leg is still good enough to be saved or it's already a lost case but you're hoping for the best. One thing is for sure, there's no life with one leg for you. How could you keep running around the forest, climbing trees and hills with just one intact limb? There's no use in denying the fact that it is possible to loose your harmed leg, since the teething of the foothold trap almost snapped it through. You're considered lucky that it's just broken instead of separated.

"Are we close?" A rather attractive male voice asks. It's not hard to pick up on it because the question came from just a few meters away and the tone it was said in made it even more remarkable.

"Calm down, Connor!" You recognize the voice of the second person approaching as Myriam's and your heart gives a sudden leap. There's still a chance you can make this through and be saved in time. "She's just a few steps ahead." You turn your head to the direction the voices are coming from and cross your fingers in excitement. You really need to get out of this god damned bear trap; otherwise you're going to bleed out. A tall, copper skinned handsome man appears from behind a thick bush, tossing its sprigs away so they wouldn't scratch him. When he sees you, his eyes widen and he throws a serious look at Myriam, then with a few swift strides rushes next to you.

"How are you feeling?" He asks without even looking at you in the face. He's already examining your injured leg, taking it in his large hand, gently moving it a bit. You hiss when you feel the trap's teeth screwing themselves into your flesh more with the tender but nonetheless painful movement.

"Excellent." You deadpan through gritted teeth and you see the young man's face flush immediately.

"Sorry." He says, spying a look at you. You just shake your head, indicating that no harm was done, except of course for your already ruined leg. He lets go of your leg and sighs, looking up at Myriam who is standing behind him with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"So can you help her?" Myriam asks, going down into a crouch next to the man named, if you remember correctly, Connor. He nods though his expression seems troubled despite his confident response.

"I can, but it will be painful." He says after a short pause, searching your face with his big, deep brown eyes. You try to gulp down the lump in your throat as quietly as possible, but you fail miserably and your saviors raise their eyebrows at the loud sound. "I am going to try and be careful." The man kneeling in front of you says, reaching for the wounded limb again.

"Connor…" Myriam whimpers helplessly, stilling his hand with placing her own on it and glancing at him briefly. Connor sends her a questioning look but receives no answer other than the woman's worried eyes boring into his. He shakes off her hand and turns to you with a comforting half smile. He pulls out a knife and starts to tinker with the foothold trap's lock.

"Don't!" You exclaim, shoving him aggressively. He whips his head up and stares into your face in bewilderment. You try to move further from Connor but the heavy trap clasped tightly around your ankle makes it impossible.

"I am not going to hurt you. Let me help." Connor says calmly, holding up his hands in surrender. You briefly glance to Myriam, who smiles at you with a nod, then turn back to the copper skinned young man and jerk your head towards the trapped leg, signaling he's okay to continue. Connor tries really hard not to hurt you when he recaptures the bleeding limb in his calloused, big hand but no matter how delicate his movements are, you let a hiss slip which causes him to wince. You watch in part confusion and part amazement as he works his way over the trap. He really can't think that this would do any good. He just cannot open it with a knife without making things worse. You look at Myriam hopefully but she just shrugs and continues to root for Connor's success.

"That's not going to work." You say at last, not wanting to sit there for another hour or so just for you to bleed out for sure. Connor turns his attention to you and cocks his head to the side in a silent inquiry. "Maybe a pistol or something you can shoot with would do."

"What?" He as good as barks at you. You shift your gaze at Myriam for the thousandth time in this short period you've spent in the two friends' company, seeking help again.

"I don't see you having a better plan." You say with head held high, your nose pointing comically upwards.

"I am not going to shoot at you!" He quickly stands up and runs one hand across his face.

"Not me, just the lock!" The urge to stand up as well is so great that the fact that you can't follow him almost tears you apart. You give a frustrated huff and glare at his hips then when you spy the holsters on each side of it, you smirk slyly to yourself. When you're absolutely sure that Connor and Myriam are completely caught up in their little symposium over how they should solve this problem, you reach out your hand and make a grab for the pistol closer to you. Unfortunately, you're not aware of the fact that you're dealing with a highly trained assassin, so you squeak in utter surprise when his gloved hand closes over yours, holding the weapon in place.

"Never do this again." He warns you quietly, very quietly, then peeks at you from under his lashes. You gulp down the lump lodged in your throat and nod sharply. Connor looks at the trap embracing your leg then his eyes momentarily study your features and with a loud sigh he pulls out the pistol you were aiming for and points it at the lock. Myriam turns away then back again, not sure what to do and how to avoid the shock that is certainly going to shake her whole being, witnessing something frightening like this. She finally settles with just covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. "Are you ready?" Connor asks you without actually looking at you, wholly concentrating on the task at hand. You nod but then roll your eyes, remembering that he's not paying attention to you now.

"Yes." You uncertainly say at last, bracing yourself. You lean your body to the left as far as you can and pray for the heavens above to guide Connor's bullet right. You feel him hesitate and that gives you a chance to back up and beg him to leave you here to die instead but when you open your mouth in protest, all you can hear is a loud bang and the sound you do as your breath hitches. You're sure the bullet didn't make direct contact with your flesh but the force of the impact strained your already messed up ankle. You can't think straight, you just stare ahead of you blankly, not really seeing anything just feeling a hand on your shoulder and another pair gently taking you out of the vice of the trap. Your head is spinning, you suddenly feel dizzy again and your hand shoots out blindly searching for the arm connected the the hand that is still clutching your shoulder. You hear Myriam assuring Connor that she fixed the bandage tightly enough around your leg and while you listen to them talking for another few moments about the amount of blood everywhere, you finally find the arm. It's strong, hard from the muscles running along it and you relax when its owner lets you hold onto it.

"We should take her to doctor White!" Myriam says hurriedly from somewhere to your left. Connor hums in agreement and you feel the muscular arm you're gripping shift. Moments later you're lifted off of the ground and find yourself in the arms of the man who's just shot at you not five minutes ago. You try to clear your head, concentrating hard on not throwing up from the pain and the still lingering shock your rescue caused. When the dizziness starts to ease off, you crack an eye open and look at the profile of Connor.

He's really handsome. More than handsome now that you examine him up close. You run your gaze across his lips, his sharp jaws, his defined cheekbones and to keep yourself from going back to his full, ripe lips, you start to count the faint freckles scattered over his face. You notice Myriam in the background, strolling beside Connor and smirking knowingly. You feel your face heating up and you squeeze your eyes shut again, wishing the blush away. Why is this happening to you again? After a few minutes passed by in silence, you open your eyes fully this time and observe the position you're currently in.

"Bridal style, huh?" You ask, crooking an eyebrow at him. Myriam giggles and says something about old habits dying hard. Connor shrugs, the top of his ears getting slightly pink, and you tighten your hold around his neck.

"Do you live nearby?" He asks suddenly, face serious and you stare at him confusedly, ignoring the loud guffaws of Myriam from your left.

**...**

**Hope you liked it! :)**


	9. Nightmares

**I saw a post somewhere on tumblr about Achilles hearing Connor having nightmares but being unable to do anything, just standing in one place, rooted to the ground. I wanted to do something with nightmares just with Connor's LI helping in this case. :) Enjoy!**

**...**

A heart wrenching scream made its way through the walls of my room and I jerked awake, looking around in confusion. Another, now a bit long-drawn, bellow pierced through the silence of the night and suddenly everything clicked into place. He's having another one of those nights. I pulled the covers tighter around my body and hid my face in them, hoping this way I could somehow shut out the painful shouting. I was wrong.

"NOO! MOTHER!" I dropped the blanket in shock and covered my mouth with one hand, while the other was gripping the sheets. I tried to swallow a hiccup but although it was soundless, my whole body shook into its force. I squeezed my eyes shut and started my usual mantra. '_Don't go in there. Don't go in there.'_

"ISTAAA!" My eyes snapped open, tears streaming out of them and my body started to move on its own. My legs took over and guided me towards my door, through the hallway and into his room. I stopped for a minute at his doorframe, fearing the scene that would welcome me once I crossed the threshold. "NO! STOP!" Upon hearing his voice desperately call out for someone I moved immediately, not caring about my own fears. I saw him thrashing around in his king sized bed, sweat glistening on his copper skin. My mind registered how beautiful his body looked under the faint moonlight but I couldn't think at all, especially not about that. I just followed my instincts and rushed to his side, climbing up onto the bed, slowly scooting closer to him.

"Connor." I whispered gently, very quietly, not wanting to start him. He stopped talking but his face still showed the torture this dream put him through. "Connor." I called out for him a bit louder this time and reached for his shoulder. When I was about to touch his biceps, his hand shot out and almost punched my nose. I dodged his unconscious attack then grabbed his wrist, squeezing it a little, in the hopes it would finally wake him up. He still remained asleep but I could tell from the look on his face that he was closer to my than the dream world. I kneeled beside him, rubbing his big, calloused hand and leaned close to his ear so I could trigger a reaction out of him with my whispering.

"Wake up, Connor!" His features became even darker than before and he started rolling to and fro, huffing really hard. He stopped moving a few moments later, calming somewhat, and furrowed his eyebrows. He mumbled into his pillow but I couldn't catch it properly so I touched his shoulder and tried to roll him over a bit. No matter how hard I pushed and pulled he remained in that exact position and continued to quietly murmur into the pillow. I gave up shortly and sighed, shaking my head. Looking around the room, I decided that it was in need of a thorough cleaning. When I was about to climb off the bed and pick up a used shirt haphazardly left on the floor, I felt it shake aggressively under me.

"MOTHER!" I swiftly turned to Connor and grabbed his hands which were reaching out in front of him. He fervently tried to resist but thankfully I managed to wrestle him down and pull him tightly to me, hugging him desperately. I started to whisper calming words to him, hoping he'd find peace in them at last or would wake finally. "NO! PLEASE!" He pushed at me roughly and I squeezed my eyes shut, steeling my embrace around him.

"Connor, wake up!" I called loudly now, not caring if it's rude or not. Whispering didn't do anything good to him; he needs to be pulled out of that world. He was suffering and I wanted to protect him, I wanted to shelter him from these dreams. The young Mohawk mumbled back something in his native language and I gasped back a sob. His pained, broken expression gave me a hard time staying strong and the Mohawk language always made me feel weak. I really didn't want to start crying again, I had to be the one comforting him not the other way around, so I pulled myself together and kissed his temple.

"It's okay, I'm here and I'm not leaving you." I said, although not sure of its effectiveness. I was not the one who he missed, who he dreamed about at night and who he called for brokenly. I caressed his shoulder, feeling the muscles rippling under his smooth skin as he moved a bit, and pressed my lips to the top of his head, smelling his hair. He had a nice, musky scent that was rather familiar by then and soothed me in any situation. It calmed my nerves this time too and helped me keeping myself together as I was battling his dream from the outside. "It's okay, Connor." I repeated, cupping his cheek, kissing his forehead. If only he knew how much I loved him, how much I wished to be with him every night, holding him whenever he had trouble on his mind. If only he let me help him more. I combed his hair with my fingers but pulled away in surprise when he jerked awake with a start. I looked down at the man held between my arms and saw his half lidded eyes gazing at me confusedly. When I moved to let go of him, feeling the awkwardness of the situation settling on me, he sat up and reached out for my hand then ran his thumb over its back.

"I, uh…I just heard your voice so I, umm…I thought I'd check on you." Connor nodded and looked around the room, probably making sure he's truly awake.

"Thank you." He said, staring intensely into my eyes with an unreadable expression, saying nothing.

"Are you alright?" He nodded and when I wanted to pull my hand out of his grasp, he just tightened it and refused to let go of me. He was now staring at our joined hands, deep in thought.

"I am now." He answered quietly after a short pause. I smiled at him, freed my hand and patted him on the shoulder. He looked up at me as if he wanted to say something but the words never came. An idea settled in my head and I rose from the bed, placing my hands on each side of my hips.

"Hey, would you like to come and eat something in the kitchen with me?" I asked casually, grinning from ear to ear. His expression changed from solemn to a more carefree one and nodded ardently.

"Yes, I would really like that." Happy that I managed to usher the awkwardness away, or at least distract ourselves enough for it to be less bothering, I turned on my heels and started to make my way towards the door, a new destination set out in front of me. Later, there would be enough time to talk about what happened. Later, we'll definitely face the problem together. Later.

**...**

**Yeeeaah, it's really short. And lame. Not my best. OH WELL. **


	10. Sass session

**I'm partly satisfied but the ending just keeps bugging me. I think it's a bit rushed. Oh well, nevermind that. **

**I hope you like it, enjoy!**

...

"Son, I still cannot fathom how you've managed to become the Captain of that ship." You're in the process of slipping into your favorite pair of shoes when you hear the booming and slightly arrogant voice of Haytham Kenway travel through the front door left ajar. You stand in the hallway, still as a statue, and arch an eyebrow in wonder, listening closely.

"What do you mean?" Connor asks, his usually calm, soothing voice turning somewhat accusing, hoarse from repressed but bubbling anger. You sigh in defeat and prepare for the all out taunting that is sure to come. Your body straightens, your hands smooth out the faint wrinkles on your dress and you briefly look into the mirror near the door. When you're absolutely certain that your appearance is acceptable to go outside, you smile at your reflection and start to the exit.

"That is not true!"

"Oh, please, Connor. You have to admit, this trip of yours was a rather messy one. Not once, I had to grip onto something so I wouldn't stumble off my feet." Cautiously, you walk down the stairs, all the while watching the scene unfolding in front of you. The two Kenway men, _oh so alike_, are standing close to the carriage parked in front of the manor, turned onto each other, strong, toned arms gesturing wildly in the air. Connor's frown deepens as his father starts faultfinding, counting out his mistakes as a captain on his fingers. He goes into detail of how poorly Connor tends to steer the wheel in strong wind and has the poise to ignore his son's wrathful huffing. You notice as the young man's right eye twitches and you're afraid that that one vein visible on his temple will pop any moment now. Haytham shuts his mouth after he made sure his point was effectively delivered then with his head held high, glanced at his son.

"You are so full of yourself!" Haytham doesn't seem to be affected by the half Mohawk's comeback and smirks smugly, his eyes closed in contentment.

"Connor." You say calmly, trying to gain his attention as you get closer and closer to the two bickering men.

"A ship that big as the Aquila shouldn't be captained by a boy as inexperienced as you." The ex-templar says pointedly, turning to leave the fuming assassin at the carriage. Connor rushes to his side and falling in step with him, narrows his eyes at the British man.

"Next time you should stand behind that wheel I fail to steer properly! Then we will see what you are made of." He says, cocking his head to the side mockingly. Haytham comes to a halt, claps his hands behind his back and turns his torso towards Connor. Meanwhile, you proceed to where they're standing, staring at each other heatedly.

"Alright then." Haytham consents with a nod. You see your man falter, widening his eyes in surprise, opening his mouth, intending to talk but thinks otherwise and snaps it closed instead.

"That is my ship; I will not let you make any damage in her!" Connor says, he doesn't shout, that occurrence being quite rare given his personality, but his tone goes down a few pitches, voice becoming dangerously low and intimidating.

"Connor!" You call out sharper this time while Haytham snorts. The men seem to ignore your presence or they're just too occupied by their sass session.

"You've just said that I should be navigating _her _next time we set sail."

"As if I would let you board her another time! You are a nuisance anyway…"

"What?!" Haytham unclasps his hands, clenching them into balls at his sides.

"Did you not hear me? You never do a thing except shouting insults in my ear!"

"I am merely trying to motivate you!" The older man exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

"Well, you are doing it wrong!" Connor steps closer, their noses are just a few inches apart, almost touching. He puffs out his wide, muscular chest and stares down at his father. Haytham scowls at his much taller son, a grimace gracing his sophisticated features.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton!" Your strong, feminine voice travels on the light summer breeze to them, stopping Connor who was just about to prepare himself to scoff something smart at his father again. You take the last two steps that's separated you from the arguing males and put your hands on your hips in that familiar womanly manner, taking up a reprimanding look.

"Yes, dear?" Haytham sobers first, smiling at you as if nothing happened. Connor glares at him through narrowed deep brown eyes, not liking the salutation.

"_Connor._" The young assassin flashes his eyes at you momentarily then looks down at his moccasins.

"Sorry." He mumbles, kicking at a stone. You shake your head and give a nasty look to Haytham as he snorts another time at his son's surrender.

"Are you two finished?" Connor looks up at his father, giving him a once over all the while grimacing in disapproval then with a heavy sigh, nods. Haytham follows him with his own curt grumble and nod. "It's about time." The older Kenway gentleman smiles at you again, stealing a pesky look at his son, then slightly bows before you. You just giggle at his antics and turn to the boiling man closer to you. You tilt your head in question but he averts your eyes, not wanting you to notice how pissed off he is at the moment. Not really thinking about your actions, you stand on your tiptoes and lift yourself up till you can catch his lips with yours. You press a soft kiss on his plump, sensual lips and whisper onto them:

"Don't fight." He has no time to answer your kiss as you pull away quickly and turn to Haytham, who's discreetly looking away, observing the surroundings around the three of you. "It was good to see you, Haytham!" You say with your best and kindest smile, waving to him as you start to make your way to the direction the inn called Mile's End is.

"Always a pleasure, dear." He replies, nodding his head as a goodbye. Your eyes dart to the man still spacing out, strongly affected by your kiss, and call out:

"I'll see you after my shift ends, Connor!" He whips his head towards you and nods with a droopy smile. Ahh, you miss him already.

"I will be there, waiting for you!" He assures you then raises his hand in a swift, slight wave.

…

I follow the young lady as she makes her way down the road until all I can see is just a faint blur of colors of her. I turn my head to where my son stands a bit off behind me and raise an eyebrow. Judging by his gentle, rapturous expression, he seems to be deeply involved with this nice woman, too nice for a grouchy brat such as my ungrateful offspring. I let a short laugh slip and start to the entrance, not bothering to wait for Connor.

"What is it?" He asks me gruffly, his footsteps getting louder as he closes the distance between us. I throw him a nonchalant look above my shoulder, shrugging.

"Oh, nothing." I say, knowing well how he's going to react.

"Tell me, Father!" He demands me with an almost childish edge to his voice. I stop abruptly and feel him coming to a halt behind me, close to bumping into me. I slowly turn around and flash him my trade mark smile. His eyebrows run up his forehead in anticipation, his eyes widening slightly.

"It just seems to me that this young lady has you wrapped around her little finger." I close my eyes in contentment, smirking all the while, enjoying the spluttering of my flabbergasted son.


	11. Jealous

"I hate him. I have always hated him." Myriam turns to Connor with a raised eyebrow, slightly startled by the assassin master's sudden outburst.

"What?" She asks, her features clearly showing her confusion. They were just about to pay for their beer then return to the table Norris was sitting at, waiting for them, but Connor stopped in his tracks, getting distracted.

"_James_…" Connor as good as spats, the mugs he's holding starting to shake dangerously in his hands. "Look at him tossing himself on her." He jerks his head towards his young crew member and grimaces in disgust. He's not the type of man to judge people or even care enough about their doings to bring up these kinds of subjects but he's utterly pissed now. How dare he get all up in _his _woman's face and go out of his way to flirt shamelessly while she's on her shift in the inn? He has the nerves! Myriam looks at the outraged man standing to her right then back to where her friend is trying really hard not to laugh at something James just said.

"Are you jealous of James?" She asks at last, the thought hitting her abruptly.

"I am not jealous!" Connor says frowning at the huntress, shifting one of his legs in discomfort.

"Uh huh." Myriam smirks at the tall, sturdy man then lets a giggle escape her lips when she catches their favorite waitress roll her eyes at James.

"Did I say something funny?" Connor tilts his head in question, an adorable expression spreading over his face. Myriam smiles at him and pats his strong shoulder in friendly affection.

"No, I just don't understand your attitude." She waves her hand in the direction of the objects of their conversation lazily. "I mean, it's plain to see that James bores her. She's not at all excited by his attention." Connor worries his bottom lip between his teeth, inspecting the scene unfolding in that far off corner of the inn. He observes his house guest's face, searching for any indication she's enjoying herself in the company of his crew member. For his greatest relief, she seems actually rather apathetic, probably fighting her much ruder inner self not to surface.

"You may be right." He says after a while, a slight blush making its way up to his cheeks.

"Trust me, I _am_ right." Myriam replies confidently, turning to Oliver and fishing out a few coins from her pocket as payment for the beverages. The older man handling the bar smiles at her widely and thanks them for their purchase. Connor faintly nods to the innkeeper, his eyes still stuck on the pair talking animatedly. Well, at least James talks quite animatedly. Myriam looks back at Connor, eyebrow arched, hands full of goods. "Are you coming or what?" She asks tiredly.

"Uh, just a minute!" Connor throws back above his shoulder and briskly makes his way to where the object of his affection and that traitorous crewman are standing. The woman just shakes her head in wonderment and heads back to her husband patiently waiting for her to deliver his mug full of beer. _They are not even together. What's his problem? _She thinks while walking up to Norris.

…

"You know, I think we have much in common!" James hiccups, getting closer and closer by every passing moment. You tackle down the urge to grimace from the disgusting smell his mouth gives off and can barely succeed. You close your eyes and pray silently inside for him to pass out soon or for someone to just come and rescue you immediately because this is unbearable. He talks too much and his blabbering doesn't even excite you all that much. All he can talk about is the life on the Aquila, how he became one of the crew or how many girls he's swept off their feet in the short span of his life. This is not that entertaining for you because one, you know the captain of James' beloved ship and that person can actually deliver the stories better, two, you've already heard the never ending tale of how James Taylor became a crew member and three, his love life is really not your business. When you're about to ask the half drunk lad to be so kind and re-join his friends waiting for him at their table and let you do your job in peace, a familiar, beautiful voice beats you to it.

"James, I think the lady would like to carry on and serve the other costumers as well." You open your eyes and find yourself face to face with the very man you've been stealing glances of the whole time Mr. Taylor tried to get himself into you heart…or underwear. You smile at him gratefully and direct a nod of agreement towards James.

"Yes, Connor is absolutely right." You say, taking a step back, signaling to the drunken man that his close proximity is not at all desired. James turns his head back and looks at Connor with half lidded blue eyes.

"Ahh, Captain!" He exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. "What a pleasure! Come, join us, we were just discussing how perfect a couple we'd make." He slurs, moving closer to you once again. Connor blocks his way by stepping in front of you, shielding you with his body.

"I think that man over there would like to give his order." The taller and much-much stronger man says in a low voice, his eyes still on James but his words clearly directed to you.

"Oh, you're right!" You lie eagerly, clutching the tray closer to your side. You look around and notice Oliver eying the three of you from behind the counter, his wise, kindly shining eyes narrowed in concentration. You smile at him reassuringly and release a long held sigh as you see him relax. As you start to move to the direction that dirty blond man whom Connor mentioned is sitting with a woman, your gaze runs across your savior's face and a gentle smile appears on your lips. "Thank you." You whisper, leaning closer to the Mohawk warrior and reaching out to touch his lower arm.

He looks down at your fragile hand covering a part of his muscular forearm and smirk bashfully. He turns his face to you and leans even closer, his head coming lower and lower until your noses are just mere inches apart. You hold back your breath while he takes his fill of your beauty by just looking at you then let it out in a loud gasp as he kisses your cheek affectionately.

"I am always here for you." He murmurs, his breathe ghosting your smooth skin.


	12. Kisses

**Just a short quicky. It just popped in my head, while lazing around in my room. xD**

**Enjoy, guys!**

…

"_What_ are you _doing_?" You look up and see Connor approaching with an angry frown on his face. His deep, irate voice makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He shoves the young man standing in front of you, leaning close to your face with a dreamy expression spread over his own, and narrows his eyes.

"What the hell, Connor?" The man, who couldn't be older then 20, exclaims outraged.

"Not now, Jacob." Connor says, his dark, bottomless eyes never leaving yours. He tilts his head in question, probably still waiting for your answer to his earlier you continue staring at him without a twitch, a low grumble makes its way up his throat and he steps closer. "What is this?" The half Mohawk asks while his long, strong arm shoots up, indicating to the kludge you're standing behind.

"A kissing booth." You say nonchalantly, smiling at a lanky, dirty blond boy behind Connor. He winks at you with a wanton look but the grin freezes on his lips as soon as he notices the sturdy assassin's stern glare directed at him. He averts his eyes and shifts uncomfortably in his spot. Connor turns his attention back at you and raises an accusing eyebrow.

"You are selling your kisses?" Your bored eyes glance back at him then with a sigh, you nod in confirmation.

"Yes, for 50 cents, so pay up or be a gent and stand aside!" Although your tone is light and friendly, you know that your words felt like a sharp knife to his heart. His confused, almost hurt expression is proof enough. When he's still standing in front of the booth, intensely looking down at you, the crowd that's accumulated behind him start to dander.

"Why are you doing this?" He asks softly, shaking his head.

"Because I was asked. I'm helping in raising charity." You answer, as a barely 5 year old little boy runs up to you and smiles sweetly. You giggle as he starts to sway to and fro, shyly twirling the sides of his pants. You sit on your heels so you're now at eye level with your cute visitor, and offer him a yellow candy. His big, round blue eyes lit up with joy and he pecks you on the cheek then sets off with a hasty wave and a chuckled thank-you. Connor watches you stand up, a warm look shining in his eyes. "Now, if you excuse me, you're keeping up the line."

"You heard her, Kenway! Pay and get a kiss or _go away_!" A redhead man yells a bit more down the line then the dirty blond one that caught your attention a few minutes ago. Connor doesn't bother to look back at the cussing men behind, but instead slowly reaches down, his right hand disappearing somewhere near his holster.

"50 cents, huh?" He murmurs and you slightly lean to the side, your searching eyes easily catching his hand rummaging in his pocket. Moments later, he pulls out his hand and slams it down on the narrow edge of the kissing booth, leaving exactly 50 cents there. You stare at the coins with widened eyes, waves of shock traveling through your body. Connor crosses his arms in front of his chest, a smug look slowly spreading over his face.

"What's the meaning of this?" You ask, shyly raising your eyes to look into his. He smirks that trademark lofty smirk of his and shrugs apathetically.

"What does it look like?" He lets his arms fall back to his sides and leans closer, his nose mere inches from yours. "I'm paying for a kiss." Your breath hitches and your fingers turn white as your grip tightens on the basket full of candies you offer to the children coming up to you.

"Oh, hell no!" You whip your head towards Jacob, who's still standing where Connor rudely shoved him away, an annoyed look clearly present on his face. "That's not fair! You have to wait out your turn, Connor. Go and stand at the end of the line! I'm next." Jacob argues, stepping up, his shoulder knocking to Connor's. He sends you a toothy grin and attempts to lean in and capture your lips. Before he could do anything further than screwing his way closer to you, and the homestead owner could move to strangle him, you grab the assassin's collar and pull him in for a quick kiss. His lips are soft, just like you imagined they would be, and surprisingly demanding. When you think it's time to break the kiss and try to gently push him away, Connor clutches at your nape, drawing your body closer to his. You hear, and oh god, _feel_ him curse to your lips, still kissing them fervently. He grabs the edge of the booth, most likely intending to crush it so it wouldn't stand between the two of you. With one hand firmly holding his biceps and the other travelling down to the one that's gripping the booth so hard it starts to shake, you deepen the kiss. His groan startles the men standing rooted to the ground behind your kissing pair, and they start retreating, sending confused looks to each other, as they realize there's no way they'd be getting any kisses this evening.

"Khm." The spell is broken as quickly as it was cast and the two of you pull away, breathing heavily. Both of Norris' eyebrows are raised so far up his forehead that you start to wonder whether it hurts or not. "Excuse my interruption, but…" He drops his 50 cents in the painted jar and grins at Connor. The native American lad reluctantly moves to the side, eying his friend as he leans in and pecks you on the cheek, just like that adorable 5 year old little boy.

"Thank you, hun." Norris says with a cheeky expression, winking at you. He turns to Connor and claps him on the shoulder. "Now, feel free to continue. The lady is yours." With that, he strolls away, making his way to the waving Myriam standing with Prudence and Hunter.


	13. Golden compass

**There might be typos, so I'm sorry about them! Not betad yet. **

You slowly open your eyes as you climb down the peak of your release and lazily, with a satisfied look gracing your face, glance at the point where your bodies are connected by the hips. You watch his erected manhood briefly pull out of you then hastily go back inside again, seeking your body's reassuring warmth. You hear his groans and grunts from somewhere really far away as your eyes flutter closed once more, pulling the feeling of utter bliss over yourself just like a heavy cover at cold, winter nights. When his pace slows down for just a few moments, you force yourself to pay attention, to really do that and re-open your shining pair of pools and gaze at his abdomen, drowning the sight of his perfect body in them. You stare at his muscles, beautiful six pack, rippling under flawlessly toned skin and almost choke on your awed gasp. As your eyes travel further up his sturdy form, you notice his movements quicken, picking up the speed, desperate noises making their way down to your ears. He must be really close now, his thrusting becoming jerky, too fast for even him to match. You slip a bit lower under him and raise your hips just a bit, indicating him to do whatever he wants, you're eager to help him. He needs no more than that and immediately reaches down and firmly grabs you by the rear. He gives it a slight squeeze and flushes your hips even tighter to his', making it impossible for you to escape. Not like you wanted to.

You're now captivated by the sight of his pendant dangling in his neck to the rhythm of his once again steady thrusting. It's a golden compass, hanging on an equally golden chain; you've given him to his 30th birthday. He seems to like it, now that you've had the chance to see him wearing it time and time again, sleeping next to him. Your hold on his shoulder and nape tightens as the overwhelming feeling of love and gratitude sweeps through you. Love for this precious man desperately fighting for his own orgasm and gratitude for the heavens up above for pointing you in the right direction and letting you find your place at last, next to the most unexceptionable human on the face of Earth. You absentmindedly whisper his name and he huffs back affectionately.

The next thing you observe on his perfect _perfect _body is that rather visible vein running along his long, gracious neck. You lick your lips, not being able to help yourself, and imagine your teeth sinking in the flesh just right there, where that vein is innocently swelling up with every urgent move. Then your gaze makes its way to his biceps, flexing and un-flexing repeatedly, making your head dizzy. He's so perfect. His body, his skin, his hair, even his scars scream perfection into your face. There's no other man you'd like to spend your nights with, not to mention your life.

Finally, you look up at his face, searching his features for any sign of his nearing release and smile sheepishly when your eyes lock with his and the intense stare he gives you tells tales. He was waiting for you to come back to him, to calm down enough to be able to look him in the eyes again and help him cross the threshold. His hold loosens on your backside then after a few short moments later; his large hand leaves it entirely and entwines it with your smaller one, sinking you further into the sheets with his enormous form. You moan at the feeling of his strong, muscular body covering yours and his hard _hard _penis penetrating even deeper into you and let go of his nape, seeking out his other hand so you could interweave your fingers and hold onto that as well. He pushes each of your hands above your head and pins you down by them, his hip working fervently.

"Connor." You sigh, a moan following your one word confession closely and his breath hitches in the back of his throat.

"Konoronhkwa." He whispers, then hissing in the after waves of his release repeats it over and over again so you wouldn't forget and he wouldn't feel lonely ever again.

…

His expression is serene, overly so, and you reach out to him, caressing his sharp jawline with two fingers. His eyes flutter open, although they stay half lidded, and he smiles at you sweetly.

"I should go back to Mile's End." You breathe into the night, still not being able to raise your voice and talk as you normally do. His deep brown eyes widen in panic at your words and he grabs your hand, still petting his jaw.

"What? Why?" He fumbles with the words, too dazed to make up coherent thoughts. Your short, kind hearted giggle pulls him further into confusion and he knits his eyebrows together, sitting up in the berth. "Stay with me." He pleads and you struggle with yourself because the thought tempted you too not once in this short period of time you've spent together, wrapped up in the other, after the amazing love making just half an hour ago.

"You know I can't. I already stayed too long. It's a wonder Oliver hasn't come after me yet, demanding his waitress back from you." You say chuckling, then lean closer and capture his lips with yours. The kiss deepens almost immediately and as he slips his right hand along your spine down to your round bottom, you push at his chest and break the contact, ignoring the painful look in his eyes. "I really have to go now."

"Please." He doesn't beg, he just asks really nicely, honestly hoping in his success. You grimace in torment, not wanting to let go, but throw your leg over his body nonetheless and swing out of bed with a graceful movement. You shiver as the light night breeze, coming through the open window, tickles your naked body and you look around the Captain's cabin, looking for your clothes. You find them scattered around the hard wooden floor and your face flushes at the sudden realization of your haste the two of you as good as ripped the garments off of each other. You lean down to pick them up then quickly pull the underwear on, followed by your dress Corrine gave you to work in. Connor remains in his sitting position, his body turned to you so he could enjoy the sight of you a bit more, a proud smile tugging at the corners of his lips. After making sure you're decent, you step to the berth and kiss him shortly.

"Should I come back here after work or…?" A rumble of laughter makes its way up the back of his throat, interrupting you. _Or the manor._

"I want to make sure _she_ never forgets you." He says and smiles at you crookedly.

_The Aquila it is then._


	14. Struggling

Anonymous asked you:

**One idea: Connor fell in love and do not know how to talk to your LI, hope you like it ^.^**

**(Not edited, all mistakes are mine and I'm sorry for them!)**

****Connor stops in his tracks as he walks by the window at the back of the mansion and takes a step back. He narrows his eyes, activating his assassin senses, though he always says he wouldn't use it between the walls of his home, and searches the backyard. His deep brown pools catch the sight of a slim woman, not older than 25, sitting in the swing he has made for her months ago, gently pushing herself off of the ground with her toes, an unreadable far off look spread over her face. Connor frowns, after all it's rather late for a bit of fun on the swing, but stays where he is and watches the petite girl as she makes a face then shakes her head seemingly in resignation. The assassin smiles crookedly at that and tilts his head in wonder.

He loves her.

He couldn't believe it himself, or rather, didn't realise for very long, but when his stomach filled with butterflies every bloody time he was near her, he had to face the truth. After getting used to this newfound feeling, this really scary situation, he flat out tried to deny it. He just really didn't want to have to do anything with love and letting someone too close to his heart for him to just lose them all over again. That's why he set his mind on hiding all evidence of his massive attraction for one of his best crewmen's daugther, averting his eyes whenever she looked at him, plastering a blank, stoic expression over his features and answering all her questions in short sentences.

He really does love her. The whole package.

The first thing that caught his interest and eyes were her extreme sincerity, the honest, open face and eyes she has. Those pretty eyes that sparkle all the time, cheekily calling out for him, challenging him at every given time. Her openness towards things that would most likely unsettle or scare other women. How she always knows what to say, even in situations where you'd think there's nothing or better not to say anything anymore. She always manages to cheer him up just by walking past him, brushing her fingertips to his arm, or simply raising an eyebrow.

The second thing was her laughter. How she throws her head back, not afraid to let a full out guffaw leave her mouth, how she gets all teary eyed from the strong waves of giggles and how she bends over, clutching her stomach when her laughter is so intense that it becomes painful at some point.

The third things was her gracefulness. Or maybe the way she says his name? Or her wonderful cooking? But then there's her unwavering trust in him and his motives for being an assassin. She accepts him for who he is, for the things he's done, good and bad equally. Maybe it was her sarcastic personality and how she always picks on him whenever she has the chance. And oh, her keenness on learning new things such as hunting, using a bow (despite her clumsiness), the Mohawk language, tree climbing (again, no matter how fumbling she is) and so on. Hard to tell which one is the third and which one follows that. The list could go on forever.

He really likes her. Loves, actually.

The only problem is, that although he's finally embraced the feeling, accepted it with every good and bad side of the vulnerable state this puts him in, he just cannot talk about this with her. How could he?! He couldn't just walk up to her, lean up to a tree and casually announce his feelings. It would be rather simple, if not a bit scary. But this doesn't work that way. Or does it?

Well how could he know, anyway? It's the first time something like this happened to him. He's never even thought of the potential of a relationship with anyone. Never even considered entering one for at least five more years, honestly. Or more.

He's now an assassin grandmaster and leads the American Brotherhood, living strictly by the Creed. It would be quite dangerous to include this beautiful, kind hearted woman in this life style. He could never forgive himself if something were to happen to her because he was stupid enough to expose her to the many ugly things that could happen in his profession. Everybody knew that no matter what, your enemies aim at the most treasured thing you hold the closest to yourself. That thing is actually a person in Connor's case. The woman who's currently sitting in the swing the Native man has made as a gift for her out of the Aquila's hawser and a piece of wood.

He really couldn't do this to her… But, is there going to be a right time for this at all? Will there be a time when he thinks it's alright to start a relationship with her, settle down and have children? Nobody knows.

Connor turns his eyes away from the girl still pushing herself with her toes, her lips moving probably in the process of singing, then exhales loudly. How should he do it? Either it's dangerous to have a significant other of his own while he's still an assassin or not, he really wants to have this one little happiness in his life. Only this. Even just the knowledge of her knowing how he feels towards her is enough. They don't have to start off as a couple from the moment he utters the words. Really, it's okay for them to stay just friends but she would at least _know_. That would be enough.

He is honestly in love with her.

But how should he tell her? Her, who's making her way back into the mansion, picking up the hem of her dress as she runs in the pouring rain.


	15. The end of her part 1

**Yep, kind of AU, since Kanen is still alive and Connor's best friend. :) I love the idea of them living together in the manor and hanging around in Mile's End after a long day. And of course, you gotta love a frustrated LI, trying hard not to orgasm on the spot, from just Connor's voice. xD **

**Not edited, all mistakes are mine and I'm sorry for them!**

_God, just stop it! _Connor looks at me briefly, a slight smile visible on his lips, not breaking the comfortable conversation with Oliver who's merrily cleaning the bar with a white cloth. His eyes sparkle with some kind of unknown emotion I'm not yet able to name, warmth radiating off of his whole being. _Stop this too! _A shiver runs down my spine and my whole body shakes as his eyes turn back to the innkeeper._I hate you! I hate your voice, your beautiful brown eyes, your personality, your broad shoulders…everything! _I huff in frustration and try to look anywhere but towards the men chatting away next to me.

I search the room for familiar faces so when I find one I can finally excuse myself and escape the company I'm keeping for almost an hour now, and maybe, just maybe think about something else other than Connor's lips, the voice that comes out from between them or how his muscles stretch every damn time he moves. This is seriously killing me. _Why is this happening to me again? Of all people! _Of course, I see lots and lots of women leering at the tall, sturdy man but still, I think I have it the worst.

"Kanen'tó:kon!" I whip my head back towards Connor as he exclaims from beside me, raising his hand in a hasty wave. His best friend is making his way to us swiftly, albeit a bit clumsily as he bumps into a few chairs, returning the wave with a wide grin spreading over his face. I sigh in exasperation, knowing exactly what is to come. _Mohawk conversation. _It's already hard enough for me to keep myself from exploding from the need and that overwhelming love I feel for the Native assassin, now the situation is going to get more tantalizing by the two long time brothers talking in their mother tongue. I avert my eyes as Connor smiles down at me again, probably wanting to show how happy he is now that Kanen is joining our little circle of friends. _Myriam, just get your bum here already! _I think nervously as Kanentó:kon comes to a stop beside me and the first Mohawk sentence is uttered. It's a friendly greeting, that much I know, being rather close to this pair of big bears has this effect. Slowly but surely I'll be able to understand their language and maybe even speak it.

"It's good to see you." Kanen says, turning to me with a shy smile, nodding slightly. I give him a crooked smile in return and move to step aside so he could get closer to Connor. As I'm about to shift my position, Connor brushes his hand to my upper arm in a barely noticeable fashion, trying to catch my attention which he succeeds in. I glance up at him, a questioning look spread out on my face. He motions to stay right where I'm standing, steadying me with a light touch on the small of my back. _He's going to be my end. _I gulp down the nervous lump that's been lodged into my throat for the past half an hour and reach for the glass of cider, loyally waiting for me to sip away on the counter.

As I quietly down half of the liquid, Kanen'tó:kon starts the tale of his last two days spent away from the mansion. Oliver is now taking a group of sweaty woodcutter's order (beer and rum) and I spy Ellen rushing towards me, waving all the while, so when she gets to a halt behind me, I turn to her, tuning the others out and the Mohawk duo switch to their native language. Ellen suggests we sit down to a nearby table because she has some news to me about her and Dave's budding relationship.

"Connor." I softly call and smile as he immediately turns to me, signaling to Kanen to pause his yarn for a bit. "I'm sitting over there with Ellen, call if you want to leave." I point to the table just about three steps away from the bar and take off, with cider in hand, when he nods in acknowledgement.

No matter how hard I try to pay attention to the many awkward happenings between Ellen and Dave that she is counting out on her fingers with a light blush spread over her cheeks, I just cannot ignore the conversation Kanen'tó:kon and our landlord is having. I glance their way and notice Connor keeping that calm, content expression on his face, drinking every word of his long time friend, accompanied with a vague smile. Kanen laughs, as he gets to a rather hilarious part of his story (a girl following him around at the outskirts of the forest, pretending to pick mushrooms, if I'm correct) but Connor just steals a look at me,not joining in the laughter. Our eyes lock for a few moments, talking instead of us then part again, his pair of deep brown turning to Kanen and mine back to the ardently rambling seamstress.

About five minutes pass with Kanen'tó:kon still talking, then he stops, waiting for his friend to react. Connor is fast to pick up the string of the conversation and opens his sensual mouth to talk. He asks something about his next voyage and I definitely hear the word "Aquila"being said, but his soothing, deep voice is so distracting that I just can't put the sentence together. I almost ask Ellen for help, for her to tell me what is he talking about, for her to be so kind and translate the Mohawk gibberish that is so beautiful but so bloody difficult to understand at times that I just want to scream in frustration. She notices my struggling as I gaze down into my cider, and raises an eyebrow.

"Are you alright?" She asks, patting my hand that is clutching the glass of apple cider. I look up at her, flashing one of my best smiles and nod.

"Of course, I'm just…a bit distracted." I say and bow slightly. "I'm sorry."

"What are you talking about?! It's okay, I can relate, I mean, this situation with me and Dave is rather distractive and confusing. I have a lot on my mind too, so don't you worry." Ellen smiles kindly, her face reddening once again, probably from the thought of Big Dave, our beloved, sturdy blacksmith. I search my head for some kind of topic I could bring up so I'd be able to think of something else other than my attraction to Connor's voice and how he talks in Mohawk.

"So how is Maria?" The spark of irradiation comes and I pat myself on the shoulder in my mind for coming up with a perfectly neutral subject regarding both of our complicated love life. Thanks to my intuition, including her daughter in our conversation (it seems, her getting older and more aware of men is causing trouble and a bit of tension between daughter and mother) gets Ellen talking madly again, gesturing with her hands fervently, stressing the points of the matter she thinks important. I stare at her in mild shock, "congratulating" myself on hitting the nail on the head because ironically enough, I'm really bad at keeping up with the line of the story for more than the first quarter of it, for it is rather lengthy and loaded with unfamiliar facts. I mean, who is Robbie and why does Ellen suddenly dislike Kanen'tó:kon and what do all of this have to do with Connor's heart being made of gold?

As I'm about to call her out on these, for me, unknown matters, I catch my name being uttered by the above mentioned assassin. Oh and _how _he says it. I tilt my head slightly towards the two men talking over their beverages and watch them out of the corner of my eye. Kanen asks something to which Connor nods and then tells him about our near kiss that happened (well, or rather did _not_ happen) the other day, his copper skin preventing me from determining whether he's blushing or not. I curse under my breath as I'm once again unable to translate the next few sentences. _Stupid, you should finally learn this bloody language properly! _My thoughts return as soon as I hear him say my name again, paired up with an adjective I've never heard before. _Wait what? What does that mean?! Oh come on, think!_ I stare into my cider like someone who's possessed and frown, deep in thought.

I can hear Ellen talking about Maria getting too friendly with Kanentó:kon for her liking (and missing the point in her suddenly disliking him), Oliver yelling at two of Connor's younger crewmen getting into a fist fight over who's the best sailor, a balding, chubby man burping as he walks pass our table and Big Dave greeting everyone loudly as he almost tears out the door of the inn in his dash but the most boisterous sound in my head is Connor's voice and the way he said my name and that annoying adjective. And by the way, why is he even telling Kanen what has almost happened between us? I've always thought he's quite secretive especially about these kind of things. A red hue falls upon my cheeks as I listen to what Kanen'tó:kon has to say about our close to kissing situation.

What I vaguely notice but fail to process while calming my fiercely beating heart is Dave walking up to us, Ellen sputtering in surprise as the big man grins at her and pulls her up, asking her to go with him to a secluded place they can talk, Ellen actually saying goodbye and thanking my company, Kanen ordering another round, Norris joining the two best friends a story of his own ready at hand, the two crewmen drunkenly apologizing to each other and swearing not to fight ever again and Corrine walking around, collecting used glasses forgotten on the tables. I notice them but Connor's voice enters my ears again, playing with the strings of my violently beating heart, so they get easily thrown into a litter bin somewhere in my head. He is now laughing at what Norris shared with them (he's having quite a few quarrels with his very pregnant wife, fueled by her changing hormones) and calls him a brave man for standing up for himself against Myriam who's rather scary now that she's with child. I roll my eyes, my opinion on men just has gotten even worse, hearing as they're genuinely scared of pregnant, hormonally unstable women. _Seriously? _

I shrug it off as I reach for the glass of sparkling cider and take a sip of it as Corrine walks up to me and softly pats my forearm resting on the table. I smile up to the older woman then after she takes off to the other direction, reprimanding a young woodcutter who's swearing too loud and colorful for Corrine's liking.

"Ethan, control yourself!" She exclaims and swats the boy on the back of his head with the cloth she wipes the tables clean.

"What the hell was that for?" Ethan barks but his demeanor changes quickly as he catches Corrine's angry eyes looking down at him warningly. He averts the woman's eyes and bows his head in surrender. Norris laughes as Corrine walks by with raised chin, a victorious expression spread over her kind, motherly features. He then looks in my direction and his eyebrows run up high on his forehead.

"Why are you sitting all alone? Come!" He asks while motioning for me to go and join them. I sigh and stand up, dragging my legs over the three men.

"How's Myriam?" I ask as I stop at his side, placing my almost empty glass of cider onto the bar. Norris pales and turns his gaze away from me, looking past my shoulder. Connor chukles and a wild shiver runs down my spine, the sound making my body weak. I try to hide the evidence of my vulnerable state with claspsing my hands behind my back, so the boys wouldn't see the goose bumps covering them. _Damn his vocal chords for making these attractive sounds! _

**This is not really its ending but sadly I'm out of ideas and had to cut it here. I'll probably do a part 2 for this piece and end the story properly but I really just wanted to post something for you guys. :)**


	16. Coming home

Anonymous asked you:

**Connor is always traveling as Captain of the Aquila when he gets back from this trip discover that your LI is pregnant with her first child. Hope that helps you. :)**

**Not edited, all mistakes are mine! I'm sorry for them! :D**

Connor maneuveres the Aquila firmly, very professionally into the bay, a wide, relieved grin appearing on his face as soon as he catches sight of the familiar dock, bustling with people. He glances at his first man, Mr. Faulkner and nods to the veteran sailor, a motion he knows all too well now. The Captain leaves the wheel, handing it over to Robert, then rushes down to the main deck, standing close to the gangway. As the ship gets closer and closer to the docking point, Connor starts to search the crowd, his brown eyes fervently seeking that one precious, beautiful face he's longed to see for so many weeks. Though he knows she probably has other things to do other than waiting for him at the port, like some love sick puppy, her absence still hurts him deep inside. The girl's father, Patrick, comes up to him, patting the younger man on the shoulder.

"I'm sure she's in the manor, preparing your favorites in the kitchen." Patrick says, squeezing the sailor's biceps comfortingly. Connor humms shortly, chuckling to the idea of her, covered in flour and other dusty, or not at all, ingredients. A few minutes pass with Connor hopefully standing around, a snickering Patrick right next to him, then the crew finally manages to dock the ship and makes way for the excited Captain. He briskly walks down the gangway, turning his head to the left then to the right, not giving up the search for his wife. This is the first time he left her "alone" (she's never really alone, her mother and the homestead girls always keep her company) since they've been married and he's afraid he'll find her with a changed mind, all her belongings packed aways, ready to move out. He loves her, loves her dearly, but sometimes this fear of losing yet another important person makes him think about horrible scenarios such as this. He's sure that his wife feels something about him, they wouldn't be married for almost four months now if not, but time to time he starts to wonder, is it as strong as his own overwhelming feelings towards her? Is it enough for her to stay with him in good and bad, through all difficulties?

As his thoughts drift away to dangerous and scary trails, Patrick rushes up to him, catching Connor by his elbow.

"Connor!" He says hurriedly, a panicked look taking over his features. Connor widens his eyes, steadying the older man with his strong hands as he grabs his shoulders.

"Is there something wrong?" Patrick shakes his head, but the movement is rather confusing, as it turns into a nod then back to a head shake. "Patrick, please focus!"

"Yes… Yes, sorry." Connor's frantic father-in-law sobers, then straightens himself, looking Connor directly in the eyes. "Dr. White is at the manor." He says, huffing, trying to catch his breath and calm his nerves.

"What?" Connor exclaims, suddenly jerking into action as he turns on his heels and as good as runs into his house's direction. "Why is Lyle there?" He throws back the question over his shoulder. Patrick follows him, though having some difficulties with keeping up, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

"I don't know anything more than this. I bumped into Norris while getting off board and he mentioned Myriam being at your's with the doctor and Prudence." Connor swears under his breath, asking for Patrick's forgiveness as he starts sprinting, the assassin taking over. His blood rushed so fast to his brain in his hurry, that he can hear his heartbeat loud and clear in his ears, the rhythmic throbbing making his head ache. He's thinking the worse, of course, as he wills his legs to go faster and faster, his muscles working extra hard. What if something fatal happened to her and he's only going to find an unconscious form of a woman, bitten and scratched all over her body by a bear, lying in bed and looking nowhere close to the one he's left behind? What if his gorgeous wife decided to be brave and started practicing tree climbing alone then caused by an unlucky step, fell down the tree and broke a bone or two? What if someone attacked her while she was having her daily stroll around the homestead, perhaps getting a bit further than she usually does? What if her horse bolted and she fell down? What if?!

He inhales sharply as his eyes catch the sight of tha manor, slowing down a bit so he can steel himself, then when he feels relatively more calmer, he hastens his steps again and takes off, climbing the slight hill the house was built on.

"Prudence!" Connor yelps after closing the door behind him and turning back, bumping into the woman.

"Connor." Prudence sighes, wiping the sweat off her forehead with a handkerchief, reliefe taking over her features. "We were hoping you'd come soon." She says, touching Connor's arm ligthly, trying to catch his attention. The man is now tensely observing his surroundings, clenching his teeth as the sounds of retching catch his ears, flinching to the sharp noise of a new voice making its way down the stairs.

"Okay, just get it all out, don't be ashamed." Lyle's tender murmur isn't able to calm Connor but he hopes his wife finds solace in the words the good doctor directs to her. The Mohawk assassin turns back to Prudence who is still standing in front of him, patiently waiting for him to process every new thing around them. The tense, startled mood wafting through the air of the manson, the disturbing sounds coming from an upper room and these many people sitting around in the living room, quietly waiting. His mother-in-law, Myriam, Ellen and even her daughter, Maria, clutching Kanen'tó:kon's forearm.

"What is happening?" He asks, his voice hushed so he could hear everything that goes around in the master bedroom. Prudence smiles up to the sturdy sailor, clad in his Captain outfit that makes him even more handsome, then moves aside, making him way to the stairs.

"She's been feeling unwell for the last two weeks and we've gotten worried so Myriam suggested calling Dr. White as help. She's rather weak." Her smile turns downwards, a frown appearing on her brows. "Go see her!" She says in parting then opens the door and steps out of the house, yelling her son's name, who's playing with a dog a bit off in the backyard. Connor looks after her for a little while, readying his frantically beating heart, but when he hears his best friend call out "brother" in their native language, his gaze travels to the stairway and his brain takes over, navigating his long legs up the stairs and to the door of the dreaded room from where the sounds of distress are coming. He comes to a halt before the surface separating him and his beloved wife, his hands balling up at his sides. _You can do this. She's perfectly fine, maybe just a mild cold. This is nothing, you've seen worse! _No matter how hard he tries to convince himself of these things, his hand shakes when he lifts it up to grab the handle and turn it over, opening the door in the process.

When he slowly crosses the treshold, he sees the doctor bent over a limp form lying in his massive bed, wiping the woman's forehead with a wet white cloth. His heart clenches to the sight, an agonized expression spreading out on his face.

"Dr. White." He utters softly, not wanting to disturb the young woman resting in bed. As much as he hoped the girl wouldn't stir, his wife immediately jerks away from Lyle and stretches her neck to see him.

"Connor." She whispers, a small smile pulling at her dry lips. Dr. White looks up, wipes his hands in a towel and walks up to the stock still assassin.

"Connor, welcome back!" He says cheerfully, comfusing the younger man all the more. He doesn't seem stressed out or worried at all, on the contrary! He looks so happy it is almost sickening. Connor scowls at the doctor, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"What is the matter with her?" He asks, his voice clearly indicating this is no time for stalling and talking rounds. He wants the truth, the hard facts. Lyle flashes him the crooked smile he used to seduce women with in his better days, then claps him on the shoulder.

"Nothing you have to worry about." He turns back to the girl, who's now trying to sit up but finds it difficult as her head spins madly and her stomach lifts with every movement, and smiles again. "You two lovebirds are expecting a baby." Lyle says, grinnig from ear to ear. It's always a pleasureable feeling to share these kind of good news with people, but he just can't help and be more happy for this couple right here with him in the room. They've gotten through so many bad things separately and together equally that it is really time for them to experience some good things in life as well. When his eyes travel back to the tall, muscular man standing beside him, he chuckles and pats Connor on the shoulder once again. "Don't look so shocked! You've had to know this will happen sooner or later." He winks at the Mohawk warrior then walks up to his pregnant patient and bends down to get his case, directing yet another few words of wisdom to the woman lying on her back.

"Thank you, Lyle!" Mrs. Kenway says, smiling softly, raising her hand in the motion of a wave. Dr. White winks at the frail lady then proceeds to the door.

"Take care of her!" He calls out to Connor, who's now crossing the room, one hand reaching out towards the woman on his way. He turns his head slightly towards the doorway but his eyes already miss the doctor as he steps out and closes the door behind him. He murmurs his own thank you under his breath then snaps back and looks his wife deep in the eyes.

"Love." He whispers, caressing the woman's temple with one finger, gently tucking away a lock of hair falling into her eyes. "Are you okay?" He asks, leaning in and kissing her eyebrow. She nods lightly, taking his hand in hers and closes her eyes from the gentle feeling of the contact.

"Better." She says, drawing small circles with one digit on the back of his hand. "Much better now you're here." Mrs. Kenway murmurs, smiling to herself.

"How did this happen?" Connor marvels in disbelief, leaning closer then pulling away slightly, remembering that she still needs some space so she'd get enough air. His wife raises an eyebrow at him, tilts her head to the side, one of her beautiful eyes covered by the puffy pillow this way, and stares at the man in bewilderment.

"Really, Connor?" The Captain laughes merrily, nuzzling his nose to his expectant wife's.

"Konoronhkwa."


	17. Silent treatment

**Not edited, all mistakes are mine!**

**Hope you'll like it. :) Enjoy!**

I feel his unwavering stare on me, burning my skin with its intensity, but try to ignore it as best I can. This time I will not be broken! I don't give a rat's furry little arse about how he must feel now that I barely even look at him and most importantly, I don't care about my own strange feelings towards the man. No, I'm over it!

I try to concentrate on my sewing as hard as it's possible with the raging headache and the sore thumb I'm having, but his deep brown and annoyingly beautiful eyes keep bugging me. I turn my torso slightly to the left, this way preventing him of looking at me so thoroughly. He exhales loudly and starts fidgeting, his clothes shuffling noisily against the armchair he's sitting in. I pat my shoulder in my mind, congratulating myself on making him uncomfortable. Take that, Love with a capital L, you debilitating feeling! I'm strong, you can't take me down!

"What is wrong?" Connor asks suddenly, making me jump in my seat. I whip my head into his direction, a startled but slowly calming look spread over my face.

"Nothing." I say and shrug as a sign of this statement's verity. There's nothing wrong to be honest… I just don't feel like talking to someone who has been playing with me. _'But how could he do that, sweetheart?' _Prudence's soothing, maternal voice echoes in my head. _'You know perfectly well he's not that type.' _Not that type my fine, royal as -

"I think you are lying." Connor pipes up again, standing up and moving closer to me. Oh my God, just give it a rest, please! I groan inwardly trying really hard not to let my emotions show like so many times I do. I sigh and pull out my nicest smile, so he would stop questioning my behavior.

"Everything is fine, really." I say, smiling at him and cursing all the while inside, for my traitorous heart skips a beat when his worried eyes lock with mine. Those sad puppy eyes are my all time weakness. I can't handle them for the life of me. I gulp soundly, which makes the master assassin raise an eyebrow, but then collect myself as fast as I can, turning back to his white and blue coat and continuing the sewing. He nods to himself then walks out of the sitting room without a word.

**2 days later**

Myriam fixes me with an ugly, disappointed look, her elbow making contact with my ribs painfully. I throw a 'shove-off' look at her way in return then continue cutting the vegetables.

"How long do you plan on giving him the silent treatment?" She exclaims at last, after battling with both her discreet and nosy self for a while. I stop preparing the vegetables for a bit and slowly turn my head towards my friend.

"I do no such thing." I answer, rolling my eyes in mockery.

"So now you're also lying." Myriam says, disbelief obvious in her tone. I sigh heavily, shaking my head then after pondering for a few seconds, throw my hands up in surrender, knife still in my grasp.

"Who is Dobby?" I almost shout, irritation taking over my whole being. Myriam sweeps off the chunk of carrot that fell on her chest and looks me in the eyes so calm; I get the notion of scraping them out.

"You mean Deborah?" She asks, crossing her arms in front of her breasts and leaning on the kitchen counter lazily. I frown at her but nod nonetheless.

"Yes, _her_." Myriam laughs; a soft, moderate one then shakes her head.

"She's just an assassin of the American Order." She replies easily, ignoring my accusing glare.

"Knowing her so well, huh?" I as good as spat, scowling inside to my own behavior. This man really knows how to push my buttons to turn my personality upside down. "How come, Myriam?" I continue nevertheless, shoving away the weird feeling I get from acting so childishly.

"Don't start, missy!" She holds up one threatening index finger as a warning and I slightly falter. She straightens herself, her hips separating from the counter as she moves to walk around me. The brown haired woman sighs at last then a fit of giggling erupts from her.

"What?' I ask in a demanding fashion, putting the knife down and wiping my hands in the red apron I'm wearing. "What is it, Myriam?"

"You're jealous!" She says in between giggles, desperately trying to fight them off. My confused eyes widen immediately, denial deciding to reside on my face.

"No." I say, a big fat lie, and walk back to the counter, picking up the knife and starting to cut the remaining vegetables dutifully. "I am not."

"Yes, you are!" Myriam rushes to my side; poking me with the finger she's just threatened me about three minutes ago.

"I'm going to cut that finger off next time you touch me with it." I say in warning, the situation getting on my nerves by every second. Yes, I'm jealous of that woman and can barely contain my displeasure when she decides to pop in to "say hello" and then stay for solid _hours_. I mean, what gives?! Connor has never talked about her before! Why did she have to start this annoying habit of hers and disturb my vibes with her presence? I mean, those two are way too friendly for my liking. As a matter of fact, it perplexes Scratchers as well, our adopted dog.

"Pfft, oh please!" Myriam says, giving me a pointed look.

"I'm serious." I raise my left eyebrow at her, but my friend just wouldn't budge

"As if." She mocks, waving me off then wiping the tears that formed in the corner of her eyes. "Calm down, nothing is going on between Connor and Dobby. She's just another recruit he hired for some missions while he sort of worked for the patriots."

"But how can I be sure they're not working together to this day, fraternizing on missions?"

"What?" Myriam asks, her eyes narrowing out of confusion.

"How can I be sure he doesn't feel anything towards that woman and one day moves her into the manor, saying goodbye to me and forgetting me not long after?" Myriam says my name weakly, trying to stop the flow of my words but I just carry on, my inner turmoil finally surfacing, leaving my body in one big blow.

"I mean, she offered herself as a candidate for Connor's wife! Can you believe it? But the worst part is that Connor didn't reject her! He just…he…argh!" I throw my hands in the air again, so furious now that it's a wonder the house is still intact. I'm on the verge of crying, these overwhelming feelings attacking my senses so violently I almost crush under them.

"You love him." Myriam says so simply, so obviously as if she'd just informed me of the grass being green and the sky blue.

"Huh?" I turn to her, my eyebrows knitting together in wonder then slowly nod to myself. Then shake my head in denial, changing my mind. But then nod again, being honest at the end.

"You actually fell in love with him."

"I did."

**Later that night**

Connor quietly shuts the door behind him and murmurs a barely audible "I'm home" then goes straight up the stairs to his room.

"Connor!" I call after him from the kitchen door, waving as a greeting. He hesitantly turns in my direction then after a bit of thinking slowly makes his way to me. "Welcome home." I say, smiling softly, as he stops a few steps away from me.

"Thank you." He's avoiding my eyes but that doesn't really bother me. I understand, he is confused, he cannot figure me out right now. It's alright; I'm going to make everything clear for him.

"Can we talk?" I ask and when I see his eyes shifting to the side I continue on desperately. "I know you must be tired but I have to tell you something very important." His surprised expression makes me smile but he doesn't see it as I turn around immediately after he agrees silently, getting back into the kitchen. The assassin follows me reluctantly, slowly easing into the situation. I push an empty plate in front of him and motion for him to sit down. Connor does as suggested, acting just like a well trained pet, and takes a seat at the end of the table.

"I know I've been acting rather strangely these last few days but I had a lot on my mind." I jump right into it, all the while filling his plate with roasted potatoes and chicken stew.

"It is alright, I understand." Connor says reassuringly, ready to make peace and ignore the past days we've spent in silence. He picks up the utensils I placed next to his plate and starts to tuck in.

"No, I think you don't." I oppose lightly, taking a seat across from him. I wait for him to swallow the first mouthful of food then lock eyes with him. "You _can't_." His eyebrows crease in thought and I let loose, a half smile appearing on my lips. He nods, being the good listener he is, letting me unfold slowly, in my own pace. I exhale loudly, preparing myself for the worst, not believing in my luck. He must have noticed something in my expression because he is now leaning over the table, trying to get closer bringing his calming presence as near as possible.

"Are you going to tell me now what was bothering you a few nights back?" He asks, lightly touching my hands but retreating immediately after making contact. I spy a slight blush gracing his beautiful but all the while manly features and chuckle softly.

"Can I ask you something first?"

"Of course." He puts down the fork he's been clutching for a while now and places his hands upon the table, sort of reaching towards me. I drop mine in my lap, fidgeting with my fingers nervously, and thinking over every possible outcome. What if he gets angry? What if he laughs at me? What if he has no reaction what so ever? What if he admits his feelings towards Dobby? What if I'm just a lunatic and imagining things?!

"Do you have feelings for Deborah?" I say barely above a whisper but from the look of utter horror on Connor's face I'm sure he heard me. He pushes the chair a bit backwards with his legs but doesn't stand up or move further. His wide chocolate eyes wouldn't let go of my pair of shining pools, a desperate look hardening in them. He's probably trying to tell me something without words just by looking at me. Trying to convince me of something that is not there, that only lives in my mind, made up by false assumptions.

"W-what?" He manages to stutter out at last, clearing his throat as his voice gets horse all of a sudden.

"Do you have romantic feelings for Dobby?" I ask again, averting his eyes that are searching mine fervently. This time he stands and turns his back to me, taking a few steps forward and combing his shoulder length hair with his long, lean fingers. I turn my gaze downwards, staring into my lap, squeezing my hands together in a tight ball.

"Where did you get this?" Connor asks finally after a bit of pause, his voice steady now and seemingly calm, his back is a bit rigid though. I look up and stare at his broad shoulders for a while, run my gaze down to his hips briefly then back up again, concentrating on his question.

"I, uh…I just thought that since you spend so much time with her lately…" I'm unable to finish the sentence for it is making me nervous and angry at the same time, my insides start boiling instantly. "Just forget it." I sigh in defeat and shake myself, pulling my bravest façade over my face.

"No." Connor says simply, confidently.

"Sorry?" I narrow my eyes in confusion, nicely picked eyebrows knitting together as a plus effect. He turns on his heels and walks up a bit closer to me, looking me straight in the eyes yet again.

"No." He says once more, reinforcing his previous statement. "I don't have feelings for Dobby. Especially romantic ones." He clarifies.

"You…uh, you don't?" I ask dumbly, not believing that Fortuna finally chose me as her protégée. Connor chuckles, a rare, unpredicted reaction and takes one more step towards me.

"What would you have me do to prove it?" He asks lowly, a vague, crooked smile making its way to his lips. I clutch the hem of my dress and gaze into his eyes honestly.

"Kiss me." I deadpan and then he smiles, a true one, and takes that one remaining step that separates us and leaning down, closes the distance.


	18. Swing

Connor calls your name from the front door, making you stop in your tracks.

"Yes?" You ask as you place a freshly cleaned dish down where the others are already drying. He asks you to follow him out to the backyard still standing in the doorway, not really wanting to move an inch towards your direction. "Why?" You arch and eyebrow and wipe your hands into the light yellow apron you always wear when you're in the kitchen. You can hear the slight frustration in his voice as he tells you to just stop whatever you're doing and be so kind to accompany him to somewhere. You sigh heavily and roll your eyes, glancing around the area. You still have so much to do until you can confidently say that the kitchen is spotless, but the insistence Connor picked up from out of the blue makes you undo the bow that kept the apron on you and make your way towards him.

He leads you behind the mansion and to a tree a bit to the right then stops next to it, turns around so he could face you and grabs something hanging off of a low but strong branch. You follow his movements with observant eyes and when they land on the object he's holding onto, they widen and almost pop out of their sockets. You gasp and take a few steps closer.

"You made me a swing?" The question is rather unnecessary since you have the proof right in front of you, dangling back and forth in Connor's grip, and because when you fed the horses in the morning, it hadn't been there yet. He must have gone out of his way and do it after he got back from New York just about three hours ago.

"Do you like it?" He asks, a slight blush making its way up to his handsome face. You look up at him and study his features, while closing the remaining distance between you and the newly applied swing, but do not answer him. Connor, as usually, narrows his eyes in thought and tracks your every move, his body getting closer to yours on its own accord. You run your hand along the hawser that somehow reminds you of the native man's ship, and stop just above Connor's much bigger and calloused one.

"Why?" You ask, boldly slipping your fingers between his. He gulps, watching as your hands make contact, his Adam's apple bobbing. He tears his eyes away from your now entwined digits and stares into your bright pools.

"What do you mean?" He inquires quietly.

"Why did you make this?" You shift your body to the side so you can settle down on the piece of wood that is itself the swing. The both of you reposition your hands, now that you're in a different angle than before, but hurry to interlock them once again. Connor pulls the thick rope backwards then terminate the resistance and you feel the swing start to move gently forward. You sneak a peek at him and smile softly, still wainting for his answer.

"You seem to think a lot." He says simply, shrugging. You still the swing with one foot placed onto the ground and turn your torso towards him, looking up into his deep brown eyes questioningly. You squeeze his hand when you feel his intent on letting go of the hawser, but know better than froce him into anything and let his fingers slip away instead. He takes one little step to the side but stays close enough for you to still be able to smell his all too familiar musky scent. "I thought that maybe you would like a private place for yourself…, where you can think undisturbed." He says at last, watching you from the corner of his eye. You flash a wide smile at him and reach out your hand that's been holding onto the hawser. He takes it uncertainly, gingerly examining your expression. Your other hand closes on the one that is yet again joined with Connor's and you smile down, leaning in to give them a light kiss..

"Thank you."


	19. Hands

**Omg, this is wrong! I don't even know why I'm posting it…lol. Whatever. xD**

**It's a crack mostly, I just…I'm not sure what possessed me to write this. Sorry guys! :D:D**

…

Myriam elbows you in the ribs but when you turn to her with a frown on your face, a curse ready on your tongue, she just jerks her head to the direction Connor and some of his crew members are sitting at a round table in Mile's End. You follow her gaze but turn back mere moments later and arch an eyebrow at her in question, confusion written all over your face. She locks eyes with you, looking into your deep, shining pools for a while then with a sigh rolls her own pair of brown ones.

"Look at his hands." She says, indicating towards the men with her head again. You direct your eyes back to where the crew of the Aquila is hollering in laughter and observe the hands of the lads present.

"Hmm." You mumble, pretending you get the point. But really, you don't. Myriam grins at you mischievously, bumping her shoulder to yours.

"Big hands, right?" You knit your eyebrows together, feeling even more lost than before.

"Uh, you mean…Connor's?" You ask at last, looking at your friend helplessly. A short, heartfelt laugh escapes Myriam's mouth as she nods in affirmation. You glance back at the sturdy assassin, his back halfway turned on you, and inspect his hands discreetly, being as cautious as possible so no one would notice what you're doing. "Well, yes, he has rather big hands indeed." You confirm Myriam's statement after a short observation of your own.

"You know what that means…" She trails off with a suggestive smile.

"I do?" You ask unsteadily. Myriam whips her head to you and stares pointedly at you. "What?"

"You really don't know?" Her eyes search your face for any indication that you're just joking, making a fool out of her, but your poker face convinces her otherwise. "You seriously don't have a clue."

"No! What are you talking about?" You exclaim frustratedly. She briefly looks at Connor and his friends then back to you, her brown eyes twinkling.

"Well, men with big hands have big-"

"Myriam!" Norris' booming voice interrupts his wife in mid sentence and you cuss under your breath. Myriam turns around, a huge smile spreading out on her features immediately and those cute little dimples of hers appear in her cheeks as well.

"Norris, finally!" She calls out to him, starting towards him without another thought. She stops momentarily and peeks over her shoulder at you. "I'll tell you another time." She promises, winking with a parting smile. An obtuse expression makes its way onto your face, a scowl starting to form. _What the devil was she talking about?!_

Your gaze travels back to Connor's big, calloused hands and you follow their movements until he rests one of them on his left thigh. Your eyes dart a bit to the side, lock on the bulge between his legs and widen in shock. _Is it…possible?_


	20. Pendant

**Yay, another short drabble!** **Enjoy, hope you like it!**

**[proof read but mistakes could still hide anywhere]**

As soon as I set foot in Miles' End, Myriam strides over to me, grabbing my elbow and drawing me into a secluded corner.

"Finally! What took you so long?" She hisses, a not quite friendly look spread over her face.

"Is something the matter?" I ask confusedly, gently peeling her fingers off of my arm. She sighes, nodding towards the bar, where I've already noticed a bunch of younger sailors singing rather off key but enthusiastically all the same.

"Look at him!" Myriam says, her head indicating into the direction of a copper skinned, tall man leaning onto the counter, a jug of beer sprakling between his fingers. That's strange, he never drinks.

"Mission went wrong?" I wonder out loud but Myriam shakes her head, answering my question with the movement.

"He's been brooding for days and frankly, I give up! I've head enough of his foul mood and trying to figure out the cause of it, so go and make him happy!" I turn back to my crazy friend and widen my eyes at her. How in the world should I make him happy? Furthermore, why _me_?! "Just cheer him up, please!" Myriam flashes her best smile at me, her eyes pleading.

"Alright." I agree after a brief pause spent by contemplating, and decide it's actually rather practical this way. I've longed to give him something for a while now and I hope this gift I'm intending giving to him will be able to pull him out of his bad mood. "But if talking to him doesn't work, don't blame me!"

"Oh, if it doesn't, you'll just have to drag him back to the manor and jump him. I have a feeling that taking him into your bed would do the magic." Myriam says chuckling and I stare at her in disbelief, shaking my head as she locks her now serious eyes with my own shocked pair.

"You must be really drunk."

"No, absolutely sober, hun." My shock intensifies and she literally pushes me towards the bar, rolling her mocking brown eyes. "Admit it, you'd love to do that!" She murmurs, her breath tickling my ear before she nudges me and I stumble ahead, making my way to where my other but fortunately _sane _friend is currently dwelling.

"Happy birthday!" I exclaim as I stop beside him, patting his shoulder as a sign of my location. He turns towards me immediately, giving me a surprised once over and then exhales in, I suppose, relief. I smile at him, by that trying to cover the awkward feeling his reaction gave me, and he smiles back, straightening up in the meantime.

"Welcome back!" He says, skipping over the topic of his birthday like it has no relevance and his deep, soothing voice sends a shiver go down my spine. "How did it go?" Connor asks, making me go rigid right after the words leave his mouth. I close my eyes for a second, calming my nerves, then open them up once again and shrug nonchalantly.

"Well, do you see me wearing an engagement ring?" I ask, raising my left hand to eye level and waving it in front of him. He shakes his head, a strange expression taking over his features. Is he actually _relieved_?

"Your mother must be disappointed." He mutters, turning back to his beer but making no movement to have a go and sip at it. He must have been simply staring into it the whole time, since the mug is still full. I roll my eyes and give a rather unladylike snort as the thought of my mother enters my mind.

"Oh yes, she is _devastated._" My giggle seems to confuse the Mohawk man looking down at me but he doesn't comment, waiting for me to continue. So I go on and enlighten him. "I told her it's not going to work out but she was hell-bent on marrying me to that colonel. The only reason I left for was to prove my point and make her realize it's not her place to decide whom I'm marrying in the future." Connor nods in understanding, shifting his eyes, lost in thought as I reckon.

"And your father?" He asks at last, his voice slightly hoarse.

"What about him?" I wave to Corrine who replaces her husband behind the bar, smiling broadly at the many costumers of the inn. She waves back and coming closer, offers me a glass of apple cider. I beam at her and nod in a silent thanks, directing my attention back to my company.

"I remember you mentioning that he has suggestions as well." He frowns at his hands resting on the countertop, still clutching at his jug of beer. My heart skips a beat thinking about my beloved father's idea of the perfect candidate for my hand, my dear-dear father, who couldn't imagine me with anyone else but a sailor, preferably the exact same one who is currently standing beside me.

"Oh, well, I rather like his idea of my future husband."

"Really?" His voice sounds a bit strained but this time he manages to keep eye contact with me and raises his mug to his mouth, intending on having a swig but I stop him by lightly touching his wrist.

"What's wrong, Connor?" He stares at my hand that is still resting over his, an unreadable look present on his face. "Myriam says you're a bit out of sorts lately. Has something happened? A mission gone wrong perhaps?" He peeks at me from under his lashes then, after a few seconds, shakes his head. My hand slips lower and I squeeze his much stronger, calloused one in mine, giving him an encouraging smile.

"I am just a bit distracted. There has been a lot on my mind lately." I nod, letting go of his hand, not missing that brief _something _that flashes through his eyes and reach for my glass, sipping at the cider Corrine so kindly poured me.

"I see." I say, tucking a rebel lock of my hair behind my ear and observe our surroundings by looking around. I see many familiar faces, including Norris who's in the middle of some very deep converstaion with the always insightful Father Timothy, Myriam gossipping about with Ellen, Hunter tugging at his father's pants asking him to come home, Big Dave standing slightly off to the right near the door with Godfrey and Terry and of course many of the Aquila's crew. I feel my heart swelling with that warm emotion that always catches me off guard anytime it appears and embraces me. Seeing these people, being surrounded by these people mean eveything to me. I don't even understand why my mother wants me to leave this place and live somewhere nicer, what could ever be nicer than the Homestead, with some random man who has no good characteristics at all just a swollen, big purse. Affection, turst and love cannot be bought.

"You do not seem sad at all." Connor pipes up suddenly, making me jump slightly. I look over at him, noticing his admiring expression and smile sheepishly, feeling a burning blush making its slow journey to my cheeks.

"Why would I be?" I ask, clearing my throat, trying to distract myself with something so the blush wouldn't progress further.

"Well, I thought that this failed engagement attempt would hurt you one way or another." Connor murmurs, not sure where to look. I chuckle again and down the last drops of my apple cider. After I place the glass back down the counter, I raise my eyes so I can gaze right into my assassin friend's pair of enticing deep brown ones and open my mouth to talk.

"As I've said before, I couldn't care less what happens when I meet him. I don't know him and honestly, I don't even want to get to know him. My father's candidate is much more interesting."

"I, uh…I see." _Will you ever realize the obvious, idiot? _I shove the thought back where it came from and gasp in excitement.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" I exclaim, reaching for my pouch sitting on the bar, opening it then pulling something out of it. I give Connor a soft half smile and take his right hand, dropping that _something _into his open palm. "Happy birthday, once more!" I say, this time in a calmer tone, with a gentle look on my face. Connor looks down into his hand, opening it again after it reflexively closed around the object and gapes at what he sees. It's a golden necklace with an equally golden pendant hanging from the chain. "I searched Boston for the best jeweler for weeks. I really wanted to give you something that you'd like. Since you're captaining a ship and all, I thought it's fitting."

"A compass?" Connor whispers in disbelief, his dark eyes wider than ever.

"Mhmm." I hum, not really daring to utter words anymore for those have left me when I caught my Mohawk friend's eyes. Friend? More like, the object of my long time affection. My secret love. My father's choice for a future _husband_.

"Why?" He asks and I can just feel that my answer will be a turning point on both of our lives. Probably even in our relationship. As this thought settles in my mind, causing my heart to start beating so fast I can swear I hear its ba-dump, I gather all my courage and with a sigh answer his question.

"So you would always find your way back home." I say, almost chickening out at the last moment but decide against it and putting all my eggs in one basket. "Back to me."

**Yup! So, do you guys remember that one drabble with the title 'Golden Compass' I wrote? Uh-huh, now you know how and why he got that pendant. :D**


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